Blood Thicker Than Water
by JabberjayHeart
Summary: "A human should feel guilty and allow it to swallow him. But I'm not a human; I'm a tribute." Welcome to the 100th Hunger Games!
1. Tiptoe Part One

**Tiptoe; Part One.**

_In the morning light let my roots take flight, w__atch me from above like a vicious dove._

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**Blood Thicker Than Water - 100th Hunger Games.**

**Head Gamemaker Lilia Short.**

* * *

"Do you think she has it in her to have a wonderful Quarter Quell, much like her grandfather?"

I look to Ophelia, my second-in-command. Her jet black hair, streaked with white highlights sits neatly on her shoulders. A fashion that she says most definitely appeals to her personality and showcases it. To me, she looks nothing more than a skunk.

"I'm not sure," I reply, taking a sip of wine. "Esmeralda definitely has her grandfather's nasty and sociopathic streak in her. So, I wouldn't put it past her one bit."

And I'm definitely not wrong by that. Esmeralda Snow came into power only three years ago, her first set of games being the Ninety-Eighth. She done a truly magnificent job, and whilst I wasn't Head Gamemaker at that point, I know it's as stressful as it looks. The only difference between the two Snows is that whilst her grandfather might have been a sociopath, capable of seeming nice but with a true, horrid power lying underneath, Esmeralda definitely shows it more. She expects nothing but the best.

This year, I plan to give it to her.

I was told of the Quarter Quell beforehand. Usually, they assume we find out on the day when the President reads the slip. However, this year, Esmeralda decided she wanted the perfect arena for the Quell.

The large plasma screen on the wall buzzes, a sign of life, and the large flash of black followed by the astounding colours is all too much for my eyes.

Esmeralda Snow, her hair icy white, falling in curls down one side of her face, pale pink skin and full, rosy red lips. In her dress pocket, a single white rose tinted with green. A spin on her grandfather's legacy.

She smiles, waves, even blows a small kiss to one Capitolite child right at the front of the packed audience.

Ophelia shuffles in her seat, on edge, whilst the other Gamemakers attend to playing with creations and the little extras for the arena. My breath hitches, knowing what's about to happen.

She greets herself, then proceeds to tell us about the previous three Quarter Quells that have happened since the Dark Days.

The Twenty-Fifth, a year where tributes were elected by their own.

The Fiftieth, a year where double the amount of tributes were sent into the arena, a staggering fourty-eight.

The Seventy-Fifth, a year where a pool of past Victors were to return. The same year that boy from Twelve, Peeta Mellark, won.

And now this year. The year that should shake things up even more than they should.

A year to be remembered. Esmeralda's first Quarter Quell, something she would never disappoint on.

"And now, we honor you with the Quell," she states calmly, watching the little boy run on stage with a bright white box, lined with gold, the card placed inside. Another thing changed to suit our President. He opens the box, and takes the yellow card out, handing it to her. "Thank you."

The wait is unbearable. The words are literally hanging from her lips, ready to be spilled.

"On the hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that the families who grieve are at fault for their pain, children eligible of reaping age who share the same last name as a fallen tribute will make the reaping pools this year."

The crowd erupts into applause and congratulations, but Esmeralda laps it up and nods. She mimes a thank you to the crowd, stepping down from the podium.

"Wow," Ophelia mumbles around the lip of the glass. "Lilia, this year is going to cause quite a stir."

"I know," I reply. "This year, Esmeralda will go down in stone for ripping children away from families that have already lost a member."

Ophelia claps like some schoolgirl, but I don't. I stare at the ice blue hologram one of the Gamemakers have set up. Yes, this arena should definitely be _ironic_.

* * *

**Backstory.**

* * *

When the 74th Hunger Games came around, a girl named Katniss Everdeen from District Twelve, volunteered herself for her younger sister. On a journey of self-preservation, Katniss Everdeen and her district partner, Peeta Mellark, became known as the star-crossed couple, doomed to die as only one can survive.

They broke these rules.

Katniss Everdeen, the driving force of the pair, had unknowingly became the face of a rebellion, hidden away under the depths of despair throughout the districts. Victors from the past joined forces in order to permanently remove the Hunger Games and execute President Coriolanus Snow.

The 75th Games, a Quarter Quell, saw many old faces go back into the arena to fight once more, claiming the title as Victor among Victors. Katniss and Peeta went back in alongside some famous Victors; Cashmere and Gloss Arvoy, sibling Victors from District One, Enobaria Nasica, a gold-tipped tooth monster from District Two, Finnick Odair, the beautiful boy from District Four and many more. Without Katniss' knowledge, out of the surviving 50 Victors including herself and Peeta, many were behind her cause and many were in the arena with her.

The plan was simple; blow the arena up with the help of Beetee Chambers from District Three.

They never planned on Enobaria Nasica, a Victor **not **within the cause, to kill Beetee before the genius could master his plan. Hell broke loose and the plan soon floundered. Brutus Steiner of District Two murdered Chaff Barnwood of District Eleven. Peeta then murdered Brutus whilst Enobaria murdered Johanna Mason from District Seven. Finnick managed to overpower and kill Enobaria in the ensuing fight. This left the three that had become the faces of the Capitol and rebellion.

Finnick Odair - overcome with both madness and a drive to see his girlfriend, Annie Cresta and their unborn child - plunged his trident into Katniss Everdeen, killing the Girl on Fire almost instantly. Peeta, losing his love, fought and killed Finnick. He was deemed the winner, but of what?

The aftermath was simple.

Everyone knew that President Snow had rigged the Quell to crush the flames of a growing rebellion.

And with the face of the rebellion dead, it became too easy.

President Snow started what became known as the great **Victor's Purge**, where the remaining Victors that weren't sentenced into the arena, were killed in order to avoid treason against the President.

50 Victors became 27 through the deaths in the arena; 17 Victors were then executed through the threat of joining the rebellion or restarting, leaving only a handful of 10 Victors alive. Nobody knows why these 10 were spared - it could have been another act of the Capitol and President Snow's control. It could have been a way to restrain the districts. It could have been them not being involved, or it simply could have been a way to torture them with seeing the Games continue.

Annie Cresta of District Four and Haymitch Abernathy from District Twelve were two of the ten spared. Annie was more so deranged, but managed to live a peaceful life with her newborn son, Finnick Jr. She was often spared for her state of mentality. Haymitch Abernathy was speculated to have been spared in order to retain the head of rebellion responsible. His crime? More innocent children's death on his hands.

Peeta Mellark became the Victor of Victors, and so, was also spared. The other seven Victors became famous, their names previously unheard of.

The Hunger Games continued.

* * *

**Aftermath.**

* * *

Coriolanus Snow died around the 80th Hunger Games through old age. His child, Juniper Snow, took control as President through his wish. Eventually, the post was pasted down once more to Coriolanus' granddaughter, Esmeralda Snow, who took presidency during the 98th Hunger Games.

Haymitch Abernathy drunk himself to death during the 92nd Hunger Games.

Annie Cresta lived quietly and happily, mourning Finnick and treasuring his son - she held him tight, fearful that one day, he might be ripped away.

9 Victors lucky enough to see the rebellion start and fail are still alive, saved from execution.

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**Tiptoe by Imagine Dragons.**

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**Thank you for the tributes submitted by PM!**


	2. Tiptoe Part Two

**Tiptoe; Part Two.**

_In the morning light let my roots take flight, w__atch me from above like a vicious dove._

* * *

**Blood Thicker Than Water -100th Hunger Games.**

**Head Gamemaker Lilia Short.**

* * *

For some reason, Ophelia's comments make my mind swirl with nerves. What am I expected to do now? The arena has already been designed, and now, Esmeralda Snow has already stamped her approval on it. Even if I wanted to, I'd never be able to actually change everything; Esmeralda made sure to scour through every little detail I had added or hidden from her. She knows what is to come and what will happen during the Games.

Nothing is a secret from her.

"Are these Mutts okay?" Ophelia asks.

I nod mindlessly.

"You seem troubled now. Lilia, be excited! These Games, the Games you ran, will go down in Quarter Quell history!"

Ophelia sips some more wine. By now, she giggles almost randomly, but still manages to exact words and wisdom. No matter how much she looks like a skunk with the hair.

"Did you also know that Esmeralda has big plans for the reapings?"

That catches my attention. "What do you mean by that?"

Ophelia leans in a little closer, mock-whispering, the dark liquid in her glass swirling the edges finely.

"I hear she chose some tributes from the districts."

"You mean she rigged some districts?"

Ophelia nods slowly. "All the districts apart from One, Two and Four. She wanted the best Quarter Quell possible... To do that, she wanted the best selection of tributes."

"Did she say why?"

"More drama," Ophelia giggles. "It's nothing bad. The little peasants won't know. It was nothing personal; Esmeralda apparently just looked at a few photos and chose the most interesting ones."

For some reason, that doesn't help out my case whatsoever. My arena has a lot of expectations already, and now knowing the tributes were chosen by the President herself, it just adds on top. My heart races a little but I try my hardest to think about one thing only; my quirks.

"We'll add something she doesn't know about," I say without thinking. "Add something she doesn't know about, doesn't expect... She'll be blown away by the sheer imagination of it."

"What's that?"

I pause for a moment, trying to find the best words. "We'll make the arena the most realistic thing possible."

Although, a problem taps on my brain... What children were actually chosen for this spectacular arena?

* * *

**Hello everyone, and welcome to the next story of mine. All the tributes presented were sent and created through PM only. Want to know more about them? Then look underneath for the basic stuff, and then, the blog is detailed at the bottom. Have fun!**

* * *

**List Of Tributes.**

**District One - Luxury.**

Male: Lamont Seifert, 16.

Female: Honor Elliot, 17.

**District Two - Masonry.**

Male: Ajax Rogue, 18.

Female: Cyra Matrons, 18.

**District Three - Technology.**

Male: Chip Pascal, 16.

Female: Danielle Rune, 15.

**District Four - Fishing.**

Male: Marlin Roth, 18.

Female: Azolla Midwell, 17.

**District Five - Power.**

Male: Nomen Clature, 17.

Female: Hayl Gartham, 18.

**District Six - Transportation.**

Male: Milo Trivil, 15.

Female: Noelle Alcott, 14.

**District Seven - Lumber.**

Male: Aspen Berkley, 15.

Female: Evy Redwood, 15.

**District Eight - Textiles.**

Male: Nate Lawson, 16.

Female: Twill Mousseline, 17.

**District Nine - Grain.**

Male: Dagan Grove, 18.

Female: Poppy Spool, 17.

**District Ten - Livestock.**

Male: Sawyer Chance, 14.

Female: Kieran DeLuca, 17.

**District Eleven - Agriculture.**

Male: Otto Drake, 14.

Female: Ambrosia LaMarie, 15.

**District Twelve - Coal.**

Male: Hacket Bruckwill, 18.

Female: Margot Roybal, 16.

* * *

**Tiptoe by Imagine Dragons.**

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******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

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******I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Who are your favourite six tributes from just a simple look at the blog?_**

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******If you would like, go over to DramaticBlaze's profile and submit for their SYOT! They need spots and they both are insanely creative! Also, you might want to check out KnockingBell's SYOT and submit, too!**

******The reapings (god help me) will be due exactly in one weeks time. After that, there is no set schedule.**


	3. Letters From The Sky

**Letters From The Sky.**

_'Cause even though you left me here, __I have nothing left to fear._

* * *

**Mayor Spinel of District One.**

* * *

The reapings have _always_ been a treasured day for the whole of District One. People rush out of their houses as early as possible. Some go into work and then abandon their jobs just so they can see who has the potential to win the Games. No children have to worry about being reaped. We've never not had a volunteer. In all the years I've been mayor, a girl and boy have volunteered. Some reaped children make it to the stage before they're ripped away from a bulky, beautiful volunteer.

This year should bring a different kind of volunteers.

Volunteers who have already lost a relative. Volunteers who have more to work for, more pressure on their shoulders and more expectations to live up to.

It's a year that will bring forth the most determined, the most angry or sad.

"Mayor Spinel, it's time."

I nod to the young woman that has become my assistant over time, getting up, ignoring my cane propped up against the side of the couch. Out there, I can't seem weak. They've been planning to get a new mayor for a few years now. And by them, I mean my own children and grandchildren, all looking for the perks of it.

Walking out the room, I smile at the young lady, leading myself out the Justice Building and onto the stage.

All the children that aren't planning to volunteer, the younger ones, fill in first. Their parents stand bored and idle against the walls and ropes, watching with a feign interest. Worse of all, these are still the families that lost someone. Each one of these adults, their children in the pen, lost someone to the Games. Yet, they act like they don't care. They lost one relative, and they know another one isn't going to go forth, so it's okay by them.

I tap the mic twice when the pens become full, but much noticably smaller than most years.

"This year, due to the twist, escorts are not present," I state calmly. "Instead, I shall present to you the video sent from the Capitol."

The tape begins to play, and I look out upon the crowd of teenagers. The older ones have fire in their eyes, planning to volunteer, perhaps? Or maybe for once, they aren't planning to do anything. These are the Games that stole their relative's life. Why would they enter and face the same fate?

My own child entered many years ago now.

He thought he could do it. That was until his district partner turned on him in his sleep. Mind you, it was before I became mayor. And that seems decades now.

The video turns off, coming to a halt, and I make my way to the boy's reaping glass, microphone in hand and trying my hardest to balance each step out. I dip my hand in when I arrive, swirling around. Someone is bound to volunteer. I flip the piece of paper over, scanning the name.

"Lamont Seifert!"

A boy with blonde hair and blue eyes tilts his head, but he's too late. A muscular, dark haired boy begins sprinting to the stage, hollering and calling out as much as his lungs can handle. But as he makes the stage, ready to snatch the microphone from me, Lamont steps up.

"No need to volunteer," he states calmly, almost emotionless. "I accept."

The boy frowns, climbing down as Lamont stands there rigid. I cross to the girl's bowl, eyebrows knit over Lamont's choice to actually be reaped when he could have simply allowed the boy to die instead. For the first time ever, a One tribute has been _reaped_. I can still see him out the corner of my eye when I call the name of the female tribute out.

Instead, I notice a girl raise her hand, eyes watching her father, no doubt, from the edge of the pens. She moves slowly towards the stage, and I hand her the microphone to state her name clearly.

"Honor Elliot." she says rather conflicted, but with a small smile still plastered on her face.

* * *

**Mayor Roark of District Two.**

* * *

Being the mayor of such an expansive district is far too rewarding. A ton of children that are always trained, walking out of the Training Center with their leather jackets on tight, death glares steady in their eyes. This year, the trainees might have relatives to prove better, to save the family name that is already tarnished.

No _doubt_, once the Quell was announced, the trainers trained them harder.

Everyone knows the Training Center exists, that our tributes are always the most bloodthirsty and murderous of the lot. That's why we have the most Victors. Every decade, we always guarantee at least two Victors, possibly more sometimes. The Capitol knows as well, but they play dumb to pity the rest of the lower districts. Can't show favouritism, even if we were and still are the most loyal district to the Capitol.

From my seat, I notice the trainees come out first.

They have everything to prove this year. Winners of the Quells usually get a higher reputation compared to others. The first winner was a Career from One, the other two, peasants from Twelve. Two have been short on each go, and now, this could be the year to prove themselves.

I hear Clifford and Maverick discussing behind me.

They're training at the Training Center. They already know which tribute they're training because they know the volunteers. I rise, clipping the microphone from the stand and moving to the first bowl without question. When I notice the pens full as much as they can be, I take the first slip.

"Our female tribute is..." but I don't say the name.

The girl with bright red hair begins to jog forward, a grin on her face and a dark gleam in her eyes. A true monster. But, as she gets closer to the steps, another girl, tanned skin and wavy blonde hair, jumps in front of her and shoots a hand into the air.

"I volunteer." she grins.

The redhead blinks a few times, shocked, but the blonde just moves forward. I can Clifford and Maverick still whispering behind us; she wasn't the expected volunteer, clearly.

I hand her the microphone as she stands next to me. "Cyra Matrons."

I nod, moving over to the next bowl. This time, though, the right volunteer begins to sprint towards the stage, as if fearing that someone might clip the chance away from him, much like Cyra just did. She's lucky she won't get punished; the Training Center have never taken their rules being broken so lightly.

"And your name?" I ask, tilting the microphone to him.

He flashes a charming smile at the cameras as they roll onto him.

"Ajax Rogue. And I plan to _win_."

I thought he looked vaguely familiar. Another Rogue that wants to volunteer. I remember his brother doing exactly the same only three years ago. Another perfect example; a volunteer ready to avenge their fallen relative. This year, Two should have a greater chance than normal. Our tributes are truly going to destroy the competition.

* * *

**Mayor Kripkey of District Three.**

* * *

Everyone seems confused by the lack of escorts this year. Somehow, it doesn't surprise me. Esmeralda Snow probably has some sneaky scheme up her sleeve, ready to unleash upon the unexpected world. It's like instead, us mayors have to be punished instead.

I don't waste any time once I know the potential tributes are stored in their correct lines.

My hand grasps around the microphone, pulling it off the stand. I look out at the children once more. All these families, watching, biting their nails, it's always been something I've never enjoyed. I became mayor almost two decades ago, and since then, the reaping day does nothing but _sicken_ me.

I clip my fingernails around one of the slips, walking back to the middle.

"Happy Hunger Games everyone," I say with as much smile as I can muster. Instead, it flounders and definitely feels more forced. "Our female tribute is..."

For some reason, it takes everything for me to try and open the press. Each time I try, my hands shake so badly, it becomes near impossible. I can feel the cameras on me, but that only heightens the rest of shaking, which almost becomes a constant vibration.

Finally, I pluck it open with much relief.

"Our female tribute this year is... Danielle Rune."

The girls in the fifteen year old spot slide apart quite quickly, abandoning the girl in the middle with bright blonde hair. She's of average height, but by looking at her stomach, you can tell she's definitely underfed and malnourished a tad. She slowly walks up to the stage, keeping her face straight and constrained.

I feel like I should send her a pitiful smile, but I know she'd probably reject it. Right now, no matter how calm she looks, she must be terrified on the inside.

I clip over to the boy's bowl, swirling my hand around the exterior, trying so _desperately_ to avoid my nephew's name. He's in here more times than I can count, and it would destroy my sister if I found him out of all the others.

Thankfully, it isn't his name.

I look back at the mentors, Bolt Harker and Mercury Molass, both staring at Danielle with furrowed expressions.

"Chip Pascal is our male tribute." I say aloud.

A loud, choked cry expels into the air from somewhere in the crowd. That must obviously be Chip. He manages to stagger out of the group of boys, and it's surprising, because for a Three tribute, he actually is a good looking kid. Tears stream from his puffy eyes as he climbs onto the stage with wobbly legs. I stand there between the boy, gesturing for them to shake hands. Danielle does. Chip doesn't respond.

"District Three, your tributes."

* * *

**Mayor Reef of District Four.**

* * *

"River, just shut up." Creek grumbles, not even bothering to look at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry Creek, I didn't think my presence would affect you that much anymore."

Creek doesn't bother to respond or look at River anymore. I can't blame him, for that matter. When Creek won the Eighty-Fifth Hunger Games, he had the life of luxury and all the women he wanted. Yet, he chose to mentor and then fall in love with River when she was reaped for the Ninetieth Hunger Games. He liked her for her innocence. When she got into the Games, she murdered and murdered and proved that it was all an act.

Creek's attraction to her just floundered when she returned as Victor.

"You can't ignore me forever Creek." River toys from her seat.

"I'll ignore you for as long as I want to. _You_ can't tell _me_ what to do."

I force myself not to roll my eyes. Every year has been the same. Last year, both River and Creek were Victors. River toyed and mocked Creek whilst Creek kept perfectly quiet and ignored her. Neither of the Four tributes did any good.

The microphone sits in my lap as the video plays. When it's finished, I climb up, trying my hardest to block out River's constant droning and insulting behavior.

"Happy Hunger Games, District Four," I say as chirpy as I can, beaming from ear to ear at the tributes. What I've never understood is, is why Four are never classed as proper Careers. They train and work just as hard, yet they're better known as just filler Careers. "I will announce the male tribute first."

My fingers skim over the slips, teasing the paper, until I've picked one. I read the name quickly.

"And our male tributes is... Rocky Beldevon."

A small, skitty boy looks up with wide eyes. He shouldn't be scared; a volunteer is sure to happen. A tall boy with short curly hair quickly shouts up as loud as he can.

"I volunteer!"

The name catches a person, though, in the crowd, and she wails as loudly as she can. He extracts himself from the group and moves forward stiffly, eyes closed and a visible tighten of his muscles at the cry of the elderly lady calling after him. It takes but a second to realise that's his mother and she isn't happy.

"Your name, sweetheart?" I ask him.

"Marlin Roth." he smiles as best as he can, no doubt trying to block out his mother's crying.

"Lovely name," I grin, moving away to the female's bowl. I grab the first slip and read the name.

"Our female tribute for the Quell is... Alice Azure!"

But like with the little boy, as the small girl looks at me with wide eyes, a young, beautiful girl moves up to the stage with a straight line on her lips. She takes the microphone from my hands without asking, pressing it to her lips.

"My name is Azolla Midwell. And I _want_ my sister back."

* * *

**Mayor Mulroney of District Five.**

* * *

I watch with sad eyes as Cordelia Ethon is escorted to her seat by a Peacekeeper. To anyone else and to the outside world, it looks as if she's been in trouble, taken to her seat to fulfill her role as mentor but after that, shipped back to the local detention center Instead, if you looked closer, you'd see the many cuts and bruises upon her arms, legs barely able to keep her up.

Cordelia had a _rough_ time when she won the Games decades ago, back just after the second Quarter Quell.

She's an elderly lady now, and she just wants her time in the world to end. She's on constant house arrest, Peacekeepers watching around the clock to make sure she doesn't attempt suicide once more. The cuts on her arm are from the blades. The bruises from the times she threw herself down the stairs.

Yet, now, they won't allow her peace. They took away her childhood by reaping her and forcing her to kill and win, and now when she wants it all over, they keep her here.

They never bothered to try and save her when they threw her into a death match.

Zeke Wallace, the other mentor, sits beside her. Cordelia doesn't acknowledge him at all, glazed eyes staring into nothingness. He flashes a placid smile at me, and I walk over to them both. My hand lingers on Cordelia's shoulders.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, knowing that whilst I'm younger than her, she still needs help.

She looks up, blinking. "I'm fine, dear, just go ahead and do your duties. _They're_ watching."

When I look over my shoulder, I can see some Peacekeepers watching us curiously from the side. I look back to Cordelia, rubbing my hand so that she knows I care. When she smiles faintly, I go back to the microphone stand, collect the microphone and then head on over to the boy's bowl to do something different.

I gulp down the guilt in my stomach and Cordelia's eyes on my back.

I pick up the paper, flipping the press and reading the name aloud. "Nomen Clature."

The name rings a bell. I think I remember his brother being reaped not long ago. It hits me when I remember that if I'm correct, his brother was young, possibly only twelve years old. Yet, as Nomen slides out the group, I can see his lips twitching into... Into a sort of pressed smile. It's not full, rather hidden, and you can tell how much pressure he's using to actually hold back the smile that could form any second.

He's happy he's reaped. When he gets to the stage, I lean over the female's bowl and pluck another slip.

"Hayl Gartham." I say, keeping my eyes on Nomen next to me.

The girl is old, no doubt eighteen, but her wild head thrashing around doesn't help with the sunken feeling in her eyes. She's probably looking for a way out. She probably doesn't realise that her death sentence has been created, and more than likely, the Capitol is already calling for her blood to be spilled across the arena floor. Five have never been a favourite of the Capitolites. She climbs the stairs, accepting the confident handshake with a shaky one of her own from Nomen as she walks by. She stands there, looking out, and I know for a fact that I feel as much pity for her as I do for Cordelia.

I have _no_ pity for Nomen.

Hopefully it won't be bad. Hopefully she'll die easily.

* * *

**Mayor Chrome of District Six.**

* * *

I sit patiently, watching out into the sea of children. Every now and then, the wind blows lightly, catching my dress and lifting it. I have to pat it down each and every time, much to the amusement of the mentors; Lorcan Trump and Wisp Brucknall. Both boys, both idiotic and childish.

Worse of all, I went to school with Lorcan. Even the same age.

I was elected in at a young age to be the mayor only last year. I'm currently eighteen, Lorcan's the same, reaped last year and walked away the winner of it all. Managed to last the longest out of all the other tributes, slamming a brick repeatedly into the head of the District Eleven girl. Unfortunately, came back assuming he's invincible and immortal.

"Come on, Elena, let the wind do it's magic. Mother nature and all that." Lorcan whispers cheekily from the side.

I roll my eyes. "You're an idiot."

"You love me."

The worse thing is, he's kind of right. He came back a different person, but he's still the Lorcan Trump that captured my heart when we were children. The video comes to a halt, and I climb up from my seat, skimming my hand over my dress as I approach the microphone.

"District Six, welcome to the fourth Quarter Quell."

No-one responds and I don't blame them. Everyone is probably in shock of what's about to happen. A week after the announcement of the Quell, a letter was sent to each mayor and Head Peacekeeper of every district containing the names of every child eligible of reaping and meeting the requirements, their names and blood matching a fallen tribute. Some of the children probably didn't even _realise_ that four or five decades ago, they lost a great-aunt they never knew.

History came back to haunt them.

I walk over to the female bowl, slipping my hand in, grabbing a slip and then holding it out to read. "Our female tribute is... Noelle Alcott."

A hysterical cry breaks over the silence, a small, brown haired girl hyperventilating in the middle of a group of girls that have chosen to spread out from her. No-one shows any pity to the small girl. All their eyes are narrow, almost glaring at her as she shakily creeps to the stage. I feel to hug her. Probably one of the children that lost a relative decades ago. No doubt a major shock to her.

As she stands there, still shaking, I pick the boy out already.

I look back to Lorcan and Wisp, both boys staring at the girl with a little pity in their eyes.

"Our male tribute is... Milo Trivil."

The name instantly sticks into my mind, because I recognise the last name more than anything. Everyone knows the Trivil family. Their relative, Titus, was reaped just under thirty years ago. He went berserk in the arena, most notably famous for eating the dead remains of his district partner whom he killed. An avalanche killed him in the end, apparently planned and constructed because he was _so_ close to actually win.

Milo begins to walk forward, shaking on each step, until he just falls to his knees, crying. Everyone watches him sob, but no-one makes an effort to help him, except one boy who slips from the crowd and attempts to calm him down enough. But it won't work. And no matter who he is, you _can't_ help but let your heart yearn for him.

* * *

**Mayor Root of District Seven.**

* * *

Over the years, District Seven have proved themselves time and time again. The Careers districts might have an advantage, and every now and then another district might gain a Victor, but Seven have worked hard to show that we aren't some poor district that everyone should feel sorry for. That we _can_ actually provide Victors.

The Ninety-Seventh Games was our latest victory. Maple Palmer, mentor this year.

Our other mentor, Willow Cleese, won the Eighty-Ninth Games.

Both Maple and Willow were sure victories. They had high, Career-like training scores in the region of 9 to the ultimate 12. Neither entered the Career pack, both proved them were capable by killing at the bloodbath. Maple's Games only lasted but a week before she was crowned.

Time and time again, Seven have proved that our tributes are _more_ than capable. That being a district represented by lumber, our children know how to handle axes and hatches, far more useful compared to a place such as Three with their technology or Ten with their livestock.

Yet, somehow, we're always referred to as a poorer district. As if we're incapable. As if we're weak.

The female's slip falls and rises in my hand. I already know the name of the girl. I'm just holding on for dramatic effect. Each set of eyes stare me, waiting, some looking more interested in it than others. We'll have another winner, I'm sure of it. And that winner could possibly be...

"Evy Redwood," I smile. "Our female tribute is Evy Redwood."

I know the girl, and I quickly find her face in the crowd. She doesn't look too fazed, but her eyes are alarmed as she tilts her head. Then, she slowly, painstakingly slow, moves towards the stage and climbs up. When she stands there, I look to her, grinning. She looks capable enough - reminds me of Maple and her reaping, and she turned out fine.

Even so, we haven't had a male winner in a few years, so we can see who we have as her district partner.

I grab the slip, popping it open straightaway and blurting out the name, excitement taking over.

"Aspen Berkley!"

The boy in question just stands there, frozen on the spot. A boy behinds him begins nudging him forward, but Aspen just sways on the spot. The nudge becomes a large push, and that snaps Aspen back into reality as he attempts to stop himself from falling over. His eyes snap to another pen, the younger ones, and I can see a volunteer about to take his place. He's younger, but he could be stronger.

That somehow urges Aspen on, and he sprints from his closure and runs forward as fast as he can before the other takes his spot.

Determined not to lose out on the opportunity of bringing more wealth and grandeur to District Seven. I like that. We _might_ have a male winner.

I grab both of their hands, yanking them high into the air, beaming as hard as I can. "_Your tributes_!"

* * *

**Mayor Burlap of District Eight.**

* * *

I stand there at the male's bowl, steadily swirling my hand around the glass exterior. The fate is in my hands. I'll never understand how an escort could ever do this. Picking the name of the child they're sending to their death.

In some years, I've seen some tributes take it out on the escort. One boy spat on her shoes. One girl kicked the male escort last year in the shin.

I just hope that this year, no tribute decides to take it out on me. I've never been one who enjoys being hated. I've lived to please my entire life, from family to the people in the district I run. Everyone has expected more and more from me, and I live to try and please them. Yet, I wouldn't blame them. If I was in their position, I'd probably take it out on the escort... And then apologise profoundly until I couldn't breathe.

I grab the slip.

I can feel the pressure.

Bringing the microphone to my lips, I think about every child that I've watched get taken away, never returning. I don't remember their names, but their appearances stick clearly in my mind. Sometimes at night, I'll seem them meet their demise over and over. As the mayor, I'm required to watch the Games every year, without fail.

"Our male tribute is Nate Lawson." I say in one quick, clear breath.

I know Nate, and that only breaks my heart just a little bit more. The normally chirpy boy goes slightly pale as he extracts himself from the group of boys he's crowded around. You can basically see their sorrow in losing one of the most beloved teenagers in the local school. He lives not far from my house. When he walks by, he always manages to smile, no matter the weather, no matter the problem.

When he climbs the stage, I can _still_ remember the ghost of the smile he flashed me this morning.

And almost instantly, he grins from ear to ear, giving a thumbs up to the boys in the crowd. They cheer back, and Nate only grins wider.

If he manages to smile no matter what, I'd hate to think of what the Games might do to him. It could be a lot worse than he might ever imagined - or Nate is a better actor than he lets on.

He still smiles as I walk to the female's bowl, picking up the slip and looking at it.

"Twill Mousseline." I say shortly once more.

Girls begin to all turn around, staring at the girl that is obviously Twill. She goes considerably pale despite an already pale complexion. She manages to make a few steps forward, before her legs give way and her eyes snap shut. Twill falls with a thud and one of the Peacekeepers run forward, gun rattling in their holster. He scoops her up easily, taking her the rest of the way to the stage, mounting the steps and then standing with her unconscious body.

I don't know what to say. A reaping for Eight has never been _this_ odd before. Not for a few years, at least.

Twill; unconscious. Nate; grinning.

Nate shakes hands with the Peacekeeper instead, his smile more mischievous gaining a roar of laughter from the crowd before he walks through the doors, Peacekeeper and Twill in tow. I still stand there, blinking at what just happened. Two more children to join _my_ nightmares tonight. Two more appearances.

* * *

**Mayor Worcester of District Nine.**

* * *

Smiling. It's something that as a mayor, you need to learn to do. Something to teach yourself and then perfect. As the mayor, everyone looks at you for answers. Sometimes you can answer them and sometimes you can't. But if you smile whether you nod or shake your head, it's a sign that you're strong. And by acting strong, you're encouraging others to do the same.

Even now, as I stand with the male slip in my fingernails, I try to smile.

The people in the crowd know that I find no pleasure in this. They know that I'm only smiling to help keep them strong. The children in the crowd; they aren't to blame. Their last names are the burden that has led them to this. But it isn't their fault.

And my smile will _always_ remind them that.

"Our female tribute this year is... Poppy Spool."

The girl, meek and shy, is already close to the stage for some reason before I can register it. Her pace is quick and small, but she strides up onto the stage and then stands there, blinking, staring out into the sea of children that are, well, were, in the same boat as her. I hand her the microphone to maybe say something, like I've always wanted our tributes to do. Usually, they're always crying or so shocked, they say nothing.

But Poppy takes the microphone and taps it twice.

From somewhere in the crowd, someone shouts. "She can't speak! She's mute!"

She taps it again, sadly smiling and handing me it back. I don't know how old she is or anything about her. Her name is new to my ears, and I've taken my time to learn and understand nearly every possible tribute throughout the years. I may be elderly, but my mind is as sharp as a tact.

But somehow, this girl, mute, has evaded me.

I steadily walk to the boy's bowl, grabbing a slip rather quickly.

Something about the girl, how hopeless she'll be in a match where allies and sponsors are more than important and she is unable to communicate, stirs a knot in my stomach and makes me physically and emotionally sick. How will she make allies? How will she do the interview, gain the sponsors? Can she cry out in pain or will she die a slow, quiet death?

Will her district partner help her out? Be sympathetic towards her? Risk his life, maybe?

I peel back the slip, letting a sigh past through my closed lips. Him of _all_ people? "Dagan Grove."

That's a name I do recognise. Dagan has always been... A _tad_ rebellious when it came to the law and power. He's a kind person, but when it comes to someone who has power, he can act out a bit too much. Someone who would make either a good rebel or a leader. Possibly even both.

I see his jaw clench and his shoulders square, making him look much larger and older than he seems. He strides to the stage, and when he stands there, next to Poppy, he raises his fist and pumps it twice into the air as sort some of symbol. In the crowd, two hands raise up and pump twice in response; one from the boys, another from the girls.

Dagan takes a glance at Poppy's glassy eyes, but that's as far as it goes, before he looks away and glares out into nothingness.

That really doesn't help the knot in my stomach.

* * *

**Mayor Cane of District Ten.**

* * *

I've never liked sitting up here on the stage. The worst part about being the mayor of Ten is that when you're up here, it's hard to try and ignore the many, poverty-ridden faces that are boring into your skull as the seconds slip by. Each child looks as poor as the other with their hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. The most surprising thing is the amount of children there are. Ten has a decent amount of Victors over the years, barely dipping into double digits.

But, over ninety-nine years of Hunger Games, that's a lot of tributes that have died. Obviously, they had family that extended, since like every other reaping I've been too, the number still looks the same. Without an escort, though, I'm expected to take control. I've never been one for actually being in the limelight, up on stage with all the eyes properly looking at me and not from behind some escort.

Behind me sits the two mentors for this year, Sunny Garth and Lylac Brillax.

Sunny only won four years ago, the Ninety-Sixth Games, and I remember her reaping the most of all the others. Most tributes look terrified; Sunny held her strong eyes solid and jaw clenched.

She went into those Games with a Career mindset. She killed a lot of children to claim her spot as Victor. It was a surprising win all the same, her eyes never leaving the boy from One as she slowly decapitated him. Lylac's, however, was many years ago, not long after the third Quarter Quell.

Both have been mentoring for a while now.

Lylac flashes a comforting smile as I take to the stage, the promo video finally coming to an actual close.

"Hello District Ten," I say meekly, trying to ignore all the eyes. "Welcome to the fourth Quarter Quell."

No-one responds, and if I didn't know any better, I would say that the hatred in some eyes are directed at me. I didn't do anything. I didn't create this. Yet, they need to direct their anger somewhere, and I suppose they have no choice but to do it to the mayor that someone allows our district to sit in poverty over the years.

"We shall pick our female tribute."

I cross the small gap to the female's bowl, picking the first slip on top. There's _no_ need to extend the anticipation.

I flip the small paper over. "Kieran DeLuca."

I know the name, sadly, and I find her large eyes staring straight at me. But she looks surprisingly calm about it all. She doesn't say anything as she slips herself out the group, walking down the line to reach us. Kieran is one of the orphans from the small community home we have located not far from the Square. She mounts the stage, keeping eyes level and arms straight down by her side.

We exchange a small glance as I go to pick the male tribute. When I have the slip, I say the name into the microphone. "Sawyer Chance."

The little boy plucks himself from the 14 pen, walking to the stage, and it's visible with how his body vibrates along the way that he's holding back the emotions. Mounting the steps, I see tears begin to build in his eyes, and my heart sinks.

I have a _son_ his age. Might even be in his class for all I know.

"District Ten," I try to break out my emotions. "Your tributes."

* * *

**Mayor Drake of District Eleven.**

* * *

I'm surprised I've been allowed back this year. Last year, my daughter Olympia was reaped. I remember hearing the escort calling out her name in a haunting whisper, lips pressed up against the microphone. She even looked back at me, sadly smiling.

I remember the pain in my chest.

The pain in my heart at watching her eyes change, staring at me boldly, asking why she had to be chosen.

I remember throwing myself out of my seat, wrapping her in a tight embrace as the male tribute was reaped. She wept and wept, tears just constantly pouring from her eyes, until she was ripped out of my arms and taken to the Justice Building. I wasn't allowed to see her after all the trouble I caused. I remember punching the Peacekeeper, being restrained by another and then lead away.

My life could have been on the line. My son, Otto, his life could have been on the line.

I'm almost sure that Esmeralda Snow wouldn't have a problem with murdering us.

I remember her death. The boy from Six caved her skull in with a piece of brick.

I swallow the lump in my throat, slipping the female tribute's name out of the bowl and into my hands. I have no more daughters, so it won't be any of them. But the family name Drake extends to a lot more. My brother's children. My niece. It could be her.

Instead, it's not. "Ambrosia LaMarie."

A girl with unbelievably curly hair separates from the crowd, her body visibly stiff. But as she walks, you can feel the sense of beauty from her. I'm not quite sure what it is, but compared to most poor children, Ambrosia doesn't look so affected by it.

She climbs the steps silently.

My feet walk without thinking, heading towards the male's bowl.

I reach it, and I can't fight back the sickness in my stomach, the tightening around my heart, like perfectly manicured nails pressing around my most vital organ. My fingers begin to shake voluntarily as I grip onto the first slip. I fold it open slowly, dreading what might happen...

_Otto Drake._

Everything in my body goes cold, and I frantically dig out another slip. Otto Drake. I try to find another slip, but the same name, my son's name, pops up. I can hear murmurs, the stomps of the Peacekeepers boots against the ground moving forward, but I continue to pick the slips out, fighting back emotions.

_Otto Drake. Otto Drake. Otto Drake._

Hands wrap around my arms, hauling me back. A Capitol attendant, one that has come this year to replace the escort for the journeys, calmly picks up the dropped microphone and a slip, clearing her breath and forcing a smile as a gun is whipped against my head, making me see stars. Again, another hit. Black swarms inwards, but I hear the name.

"Otto Drake!"

My boy. _Reaped_.

* * *

**Mayor Undersee of District Twelve.**

* * *

Taking over from my father was a tough job. I didn't want to be mayor, I even doubted I could handle it. Yet, here I am, mayor of District Twelve for ten years and with a child of my own. She won't be sat in the ropes this year since I've never lost a relative.

My aunt, Maysilee, was reaped, but then my mother got married to my father before I was born. My last name was never the same as her.

In a sense, it's a blessing in disguise. If my mother never actually married and took my father's last name, then I'd still be a Donner, my child would be a Donner since I never married, and she would be sat there, terrified and out of my mind with worry.

And I'll be stood on the stage, staring at her, praying the name isn't etched into the slip.

The Twelve children are made up majorly from the Seam kids. Every now and then, you catch a glimpse of blonde hair, and it reminds you that that kid is just a little bit better off than the others. But that doesn't define whether you're chosen or not.

_Many_ years ago, when I was of reaping age, a girl I knew was reaped.

Primrose Everdeen.

She was from the Seam but had the Merchant's blonde hair and light eyes. Her sister, Katniss, volunteered and won the Games. The first ever Games where two tributes actually won and both tributes from Twelve. The next year, the third Quarter Quell, both were sent back in with Peeta even volunteering himself over his old mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. Katniss never returned, but Peeta Mellark survived once more.

A few years went past until Haymitch, a known alcoholic, eventually drunk himself to death.

Peeta is our only Victor alive. We've not won for almost _three_ decades.

I've never done the reapings myself since that is an escort's job. "Our male tribute this year is... Hacket Bruckwill."

A tall and very broad shouldered boy moves sullen and quiet towards the stage. But in his eyes, you can see confusion. He's eighteen, so close to freedom and picked at the last post. He stands there, staring at the crowd with distanced eyes as I pick the slip for the female.

I _remember_ the day that Katniss volunteered. I can't even imagine the pain it must be to find a loved ones name on this slip. Yet, all these kids lost someone, each one went through pain and heartbreak as their relative was taken away and never came back.

And like a nightmare, it's come full circle, and they _might_ have to experience it themselves.

"Margot Roybal." I say clearly.

The girl's eyes go wide for a moment, before she flips a piece of red hair over her ear and then, the wide eyes go into an unimpressed glare. She rolls them, sighs and slowly moves forward.

When she gets onto the stage, she crosses her arms and continues to look unfazed and unimpressed by her name being chosen.

"I present to you your tributes," I fight myself to say, still remembering the past clips of Twelve reapings in my mind both as the mayor and a potential tribute myself. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

* * *

**Letters From The Sky by Civil Twilight.**

* * *

**The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Who to you stands out the most in the reapings? (how ever many you actually want to mention! And it'd be nice to know why!)_**

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**The longest reapings I have ever done. I thought everyone deserved a proper reaping this time, since we have so many interesting stories to unfold. I also decided mayor's POV, in the end, after much consideration over the idea of doing it from the dead relative's POV...**

**Some are shorter than others, naturally, but I went with what I could.**


	4. Falling Slowly

**Falling Slowly.**

_Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice, y__ou'll make it now._

* * *

**Lamont Seifert, District One Male.**

* * *

For some reason, none of this is a big deal. To me, the Hunger Games is solely about the killing and the arena. It's about wit and strength, survival of the fittest and who is more capable of handling weapons, people sniffing around for your blood and all the harsh traps that are installed. It shouldn't be about the glam and lights, outfits and interviews. It's a game, sure, but since when does killing someone need to be more glorified and dressed up pretty when it's simple; blood, pain and ultimately, death.

Someone tells me to go through a door, and I do, only to be attacked by bright lights and squeaky voices.

"Well aren't you just the most adorable thing in existence," a woman with gold hair grins. "People are just going to eat you up."

She directs me to a leather chair, a table of equipment next to her. I already know this part. Being trained has it's perks, and one of them is being taught everything from the arena to the pathetic pre-Games initiation.

Her grin catches my mind as she giggles and begins to wash something over my bare legs. A soap, perhaps, since the air is suddenly thick in watermelon.

"Do you have any strategies with your mentor?" she asks, continuing to soak me in the soap. "I had Tassle as my tribute last year. The girl is beyond wonderful. Perfect skin complexion, beautiful brown hair, and those eyes, gosh, you could get lost in those deep blue orbs."

A part of me wants to reply to her.

The sane part of me chooses to ignore her babbling and close my eyes. I hear a sigh and a little clatter, before something cold is pressed to my skin.

Natural instinct would be to kick out angrily, maybe breaking her nose in the process. But instead, I bite down on my tongue and breathe in through my nose. Restraint. Normally, I don't show emotion - emotions are a sign of weakness, whether they're positive or negative. Even anger means that you've let some get to you, you've let someone annoy you, you've opened yourself up and someone has dug a knife in. That shouldn't be the way it is.

I could be seen as heartless. I don't really care what someone would think of me. They can think what they like.

"I think you have her cheekbones," she continues to gush over Tassle, fingers prodding my face. I can't see her, but I can smell her, and she distinctively smells like cheap perfume. "That's a good sign. That's almost a heriditary trait between Victors."

She gushes over Tassle like she's something important. Like she's somebody.

Tassle King won two years ago, the Ninety-Eighth, and it wasn't something spectacular. I watched it out of interest and I wish I didn't bother. The arena was nothing more than a jungle with large, sleak trees and moss-covered ground.

Final two was her and the district partner.

Turns out, she knew about plants and poisons. She found a poisonous plant, grounded it up, and told him to eat it, saying it was okay. He grew weak, and when the finals arrived between them only, well, it didn't take much effort to pierce a knife through his heart. Sly and cunning. Never fought, relied on sponsors and pointless, pathetic skills like plant knowledge and survival skills.

"I truly believe we have a Victor this year."

I nod, opening my mouth to speak for the first time since leaving my district behind. "That would be me."

I open my eyes, looking at the curiosity swimming in hers. She wants to ask me why I chose to be reaped rather than volunteer. I planned on volunteering in two years time when I had my age on my side. But, alas, this will have to do. Can't miss my opportunity.

* * *

**Cyra Matrons, District Two Female.**

* * *

I wait patiently for Ajax to come out of the elevator. For some reason, despite me being the girl, he takes longer to get ready. That's what you call pure arrogance and vanity. But, I guess you need to be when you're beautiful. I'm beautiful so it's totally okay, but I don't show it - I don't want people to envy me for my luck and their misfortune.

Soon enough, Ajax comes out, suit ready for the chariots. This year, we're Gods. Ajax is wearing a gold tunic, gold feathered wings attached to his back and then onto his shoes, too. He's suppose to give the impression that we're Gods among mere mortals. He smirks as he comes closer, but it's not a flirtatious or cocky smirk. It's more cynical.

"I like your dress," Ajax points at it. "Looks very... I want to say something bad, but I'll say elegant instead."

My hands run down the white dress that is tight in all the right places, white wings on my back to match Ajax. On our heads are crowns; his gold, mine silver.

"Thanks," I roll my eyes, pointing to his wings. "Someone looks... Fabulous."

He knows it's a snarky remark, but it just doesn't faze him, and instead, he walks past me briskly without a second glance. Ajax is truly an asshole. Cynical, sarcastic and definitely a bully. But he's clever. When it's me and him, I see it all, no mask and no show. Yet, when Maverick or Clifford are around, he keeps quiet. He's not two-faced, but he's smart in hiding it at the right times. I watch as he climbs up onto the chariot, way ahead of time.

Most of the other tributes aren't down yet.

"Cyra, don't you want to get up there?"

I turn to the voice of my mentor, Maverick. Back in the day, he would have been attractive. But a few years and alcohol abuse takes its toll on some people, Maverick being no exception. Yet, sadly, he still sees himself as some smooth charmer that can woo the ladies easily. I should know, he's tried hitting on some of the girls in my class at the Training Center.

"I'm okay thanks," I brush the comment off, trying to avoid the stale stench of whiskey on his breath. "Ajax can look pretty if he needs too. I have my skills to back me up."

Maverick knows that is a lie. His eyes, the way they are looking at me, is the most obvious sign.

I've never been the most skillful of trainees. I'm by far capable at the very least, but I'm limited. Others know survival skills, climbing ropes and weaving nets as well as finding pressure points on the body, the perfect veins to cut and stab to ensure quick death. Me? I know how to swing a scythe and hope it is a killing attack and not something that would leave a petty wound.

The one thing I did learn, however, is to never let your opponent know that.

I can't handle every weapon in creation or climb ropes.

But my beauty will get sponsors to provide me food and water, and the Career pack can kill most of the tributes off pretty quickly. Then, I'll just sneak attack the little creeps in their sleep and claim victory. It was never suppose to be mine in the first place, but, you have to fight for what you want. That's why when I go back as Victor, I'll no doubt be punished and then Golda, the original chosen trainee to participate this year, will want my blood on the floor and my body six feet under.

No-one will ever understand why I broke the rules and unspoken code of the Training Center.

Frankly, they aren't the ones I need to impress, so they longer no matter to me anymore.

* * *

**Chip Pascal, District Three Male.**

* * *

The chariot sits neatly in place and my eyes are constantly trained on the wheels of Two's chariots. I need somewhere to look. Just, somewhere, anywhere, and this is the less awkward of options. Bolt said that whilst everything is going on, to just focus my mind on something.

That could keep me sane and get me through it.

It's not like I'm afraid of what is about to happen. I just don't see a logical explanation of it all.

The idea of the Hunger Games was to show power and authority to the districts that uprised against the Capitol that "apparently" gave them everything they wanted but freedom. It was created for that purpose alone. Not to just kill children for the fun of it or to punish families who had nothing to do with something that happened a century ago. Authority. Yet, somehow, they've made a song and dance about killing.

Wouldn't it be more effective to do the reapings, skip the training and interviews and glitter, and just throw them hopelessly into a place that will destroy them? Even better, they could just murder twenty-four children on a yearly basis without letting them fight. There is absolutely no logic to allow one to survive, since that person could come out vengeful, burning with anger and then light the fire to a rebellion.

The chariot lurches forward, Danielle losing her balance and having to hold onto the bars in front to keep balanced.

Danielle is a strange girl. I haven't spoken to her properly yet, but when I said a simple suggestion to Mercury about how to train and prepare her better, she snapped at me. Figuratively, of course, but all the same. She comes off as cold and harsh.

Yet, I think back to watching her reaping recaps, and she looked so calm, it's almost like two different girls. Seeing me breaking down doesn't seem right either. I mean, that's the natural reaction that one would do in that position, and yet, it was a moment of pure emotion and reaction and doesn't seem too logical either. If this is how they want their Hunger Games to be played, they it seems I have started on the wrong foot straightaway.

Danielle stays rigid by my side, her black jumpsuit shiny, complimenting the many different colourful wires that reach outwards in a haphazard fashion.

Lights flash in my eyes and screams fill my ears.

I hear a new names, but none sound familiar. Lamont. Honor. Cyra. Ajax. Marlin. Azolla.

I'm presuming they are the Careers at the very least. They always seem to be favourites throughout the entire portion, until like the rest of us, they are shown to actually be human and not machine, dying and bleeding red.

I hear a few more. Dagan. Nomen. Milo. Aspen. Evy. Nate.

Again, more names unknown to me. I don't hear my name being chanted, nor Danielle's, but that doesn't surprise me too much. Three tends to be overshadowed in the parade since the six Careers are all around us. Logically, since the circle is full of thousands of Capitol citizens, my name could be called once or twice, but I'll never know.

Danielle's, too, but again, I'll never know.

But, I try to shut my brain down as we reach the City Circle, our chariots soon coming to a standstill. Chariots fill in every side, and ours just so happen to stop next to the chariot from One. The boy doesn't fazed by anything around him, and the girl, well, not much different to him. The Careers look most definitely dangerous this year.

* * *

**Azolla Midwell, District Four Female.**

* * *

President Snow is the first person I notice, the bright white hair being the obvious sign. She stands proud at the podium brought up in the middle, standing over us as if we're underneath her or something. It's ridiculous. She's not even that pretty when you think about it.

One thing is clear though.

And that's Marlin's grip onto my hand.

It's not tight but it's also not that soft, either. Like a cross between needy and a show of unity. I let my eyes glance at him and I'm instantly welcomed with a warm smile, which I easily return. Marlin is a kind person. Too kind for a volunteer, I guess you could say. I've seen the other Careers briefly and I've already learned their names. Lamont is hardened. Honor seems neutral but definitely hiding something. Cyra is obnoxious but she tones it down, whilst Ajax is just the right amount of arrogance and authority.

Then there's me and Marlin, and Marlin is just plain nice.

It confuses me, and as Esmeralda Snow begins her speech as the last chariot comes in, I find myself staring at Marlin more and more. I hold back a little giggle when he returns the look.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

"Yeah," I beam back at him, squeezing his hand a little harder. "Just strange, that's all."

He nods and no doubt, he'll question it once we've returned to the Remake Centre. Now, it's classed as rude. I gaze back out into the field of tributes surrounding us. On my right, just after Marlin, is the Two chariot containing Ajax and Cyra, both looking fierce and holding smug smiles. To my left is Six. The boy looks slightly twitchy, whilst the girl is solemn and stony, staring straight ahead and trying her best to focus on something in the distance.

But I don't miss the way their hands are lightly held onto each other, hidden underneath the pole.

Some district partners are showing their unity, like me and Marlin proudly showing off our joint hands. They, on the other hand, clearly don't want it to be known. They don't plan to be allies, obviously, otherwise they'd let that be known to not only the audience, but to the other tributes. A way of shunning away potential allies. They plan to look out for each other, though, and that's something I wish Coral would have had.

Me and Coral were just like that.

Sisters until the end until she was reaped. Reaped from a Career district. It's like a double death sentence, really, because when you happen to be reaped, you're probably not trained like Careers should be; and that means added expectations and pressure. They would kill you in your sleep or something if you didn't meet their expectations.

I must be sadly smiling or crying, since Marlin's grip gets a tad tighter and when I look at him, he gushes and I can see the little dimple on the corner of his cheek that makes my stomach flutter.

I try to ignore it, but instead, I giggle once more as Snow finishes up. She congratulates us on taking part, and then a round of applause and cheers fills in the air swiftly.

Somehow, I don't hear much, since I try my hardest to not look at Marlin, otherwise, I'm sure he'd notice the warmth scratching at my cheeks and painting them red. I hope not. That would be far too embarrassing. The chariots begin to roll away, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Cyra staring at me, falsely smiling. It confuses me, but I push it away, focusing more on what that feeling in my stomach was.

* * *

**Hayl Gartham, District Five Female.**

* * *

When the chariot begins to enter the Remake Center, I'm beyond relieved. I've never been that good in front of crowds. Nomen, on the other hand, seems to enjoy it. He wouldn't admit to it if I ever ask him, but I could tell. For someone who seems to produce a certain stereotype from his looks, he definitely doesn't match it in personality. He's not spoke that much, but when he has, it's either bad-mouthing Cordelia and wanting another mentor, or to show us that he is far more superior in intelligence.

My stylist, Aria, was more determined in making my dress ooze sex appeal, even after I told her countless times that I was uncomfortable with it. Her reply was simple, "you have the body for it, Hayl, stop being such a prude" - which wouldn't bother me much, except it was said with that certain tone that is both condescending and slightly clueless.

Nomen climbs down from behind me, grinning.

"That was brilliant. I never expected such an adrenaline rush!"

Zeke furrows his eyebrows, staring at him. "You seem to be enjoying this far too much, Nomen."

Nomen shrugs, allowing his suit to slide off of his shoulders a little. He quickly adjusts it and smiles. "I planned on volunteering next year anyway, so it's no big deal."

The question hangs on the end of my tongue, but Nomen briskly walks past us and heads towards the elevator. I turn around to Zeke and he tries his best to smile, but he's at a loss, too. Cordelia isn't around to tell him the answers he needs. I was surprised they even allowed her to mentor this year after everything that has happened. But upstairs happens to be a Peacekeeper, standing outside our residence. Zeke is required to tell him immediately if he believes Cordelia will try to kill herself once more.

"Did you know Nomen before this?" Zeke suddenly asks.

"Not really," I reply honestly. "I knew his family. They lived not far from me really. Nomen is another case since I never saw him that much."

"That worries me."

"Why does it?" I ask Zeke, noticing his muscles tense up slightly.

He shakes it away, looking at me and letting the false smile shine. "No need to worry, Hayl. But you done great even though you hated your costume. Ah yes, Aria told me, she isn't happy about you questioning her choices."

"I never questioned them. But I should be allowed some say on what I'm wearing," I suddenly feel a little bad and annoyed at that. "I don't want to look like I'm trying to win sponsors over by flashing some skin under dim light. If I get sponsors, it should be because they like me for me, and not because I happen to be a girl of legal age."

Zeke's false smile becomes more real, then, it turns to a smirk. "You get a little bit defensive, don't you?"

"I'm sorry," I frown. "And I'll apologise to Aria and tell her she has full control."

"Don't," Zeke says, causing me to stare hard into his eyes. "I think it's better if you rebel against her. She's never had that great of taste anyway. And, as you said, you should get them to like you for you, not for what you look like."

With those last words, Zeke walks away to talk to one of the District Six mentors nearby. I'm left there in an uncomfortable dress, in the middle of the Remake Centre, alone. I grab the hems, lifting them off and walking towards the elevator, ignoring the harsh wolf whistle from one of the other tributes.

* * *

**Milo Trivil, District Six Male.**

* * *

"Milo, are you nervous about tomorrow?"

I look down to Noelle from my bed, the younger girl sat on the floor, lit up by the pale moonlight streaming through the room and playing with her thumbs. I don't miss the slight sadness in her eyes at all.

"I'm not sure," I say honestly. "Maybe. I don't really know"

"I am. I'm really scared."

"Why?" I ask, sitting up straighter to hear her better in the darkness of the room. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

But I know what she means. Not long after arriving in the Capitol, I learned that Noelle hasn't always been the kindest of people. Well, she's perfectly nice, sweet as candy, but she hangs around with the wrong people. She called herself a bully, even though she admits that she doesn't say or do anything to anyone. She just stands and watches as the other girls do it. She didn't go into too much detail, though, and she's more than likely heard of me.

Being Titus' nephew seems to bring around some bad luck and hatred.

Titus went insane, so everyone reminds me, and ate his district partner, a young girl, after killing her himself. They don't back down when they taunt me, telling me that I'll end up like him. That it is in my blood. DNA. That no matter how hard I fight it, I'll go crazy, just like he did.

"I'm small and useless," Noelle admits rather quietly. "No-one is going to want to be my ally."

I feel a small pang of guilt for that. I was quick to tell both Lorcan and Wisp that I can't be Noelle's ally. Not after my uncle, eighteen, ate his district partner, only thirteen. I already fear that I might become like him, let alone fighting alongside a little girl. It would be far too ironic and painful to do.

"You're not useless, 'Elle," I hope she can feel my smile in my words. "You're talented and cute as a button. Sponsors will flood in for you."

There's a small amount of silence before I hear another sigh escape her lips. "Will you be okay?"

I don't know whether to find it cute that she cares about my well-being or tell her that she needs to think about herself in there, not others. I don't do either. Instead, I pat down on the spot next to me, before I hear Noelle climb off the bed and move over, getting onto my bed next to me. Most people would think of this as romantic, but she's far too young, even if there is only one year dividing us. I definitely see her more of a younger sister to me.

I don't hug her or touch her or anything. Instead, Noelle shifts herself into a position that could look a lot like a cat, and begins to sigh quietly as she attempts to sleep.

I roll over, putting my back to her, and try my best to sleep too. Knowing Noelle is there makes it a little easier for me. It could have the same reaction to her, too, knowing I'm just here. For some reason, I need someone, anyone, to accept me, and Noelle is the best I could do. After a while, I hear her small snores in the air and that is enough to lull me to slumber.

That night, he arrives once more, and the same amount of fear feels my sleep.

* * *

**Aspen Berkley, District Seven Male.**

* * *

"Do you and Evy want to be allies, or are you looking for others?"

Ever since we've arrived, Willow does nothing but throw question after question at me. I get that it is all important and everything, but must I be bombarded with all this stuff that I don't know yet? Maybe Evy doesn't want to be allies. Maybe she does.

"I don't know, Willow, I can't really read her mind to see what she wants. If I could do that to all the other tributes, I wouldn't have to worry whatsoever."

Willow frowns, pushing a stray piece of brown hair behind her ear. "You need to make a decision and as soon as possible. If Evy wants to be allies, that's fine, but if she says no, then you need to go down there and find someone else. Being on your own in there is a tricky thing to do, and overall, a lot worse than having friends."

"That's funny, because Maple said the opposite. She said you don't need friends to win." I smirk.

"That's because Maple happens to have no heart underneath all that flesh," Willow rolls her eyes. "Besides, your my tribute, not hers. She should worry more about Evy, who still hasn't left her bedroom this morning."

On cue, Maple comes charging around the corner, eyes flared and disgusted. Because of the Quell, we're not allowed escorts until the day the interviews are held. They'll come in and train us to do the interview, but only that. Everything else is left to our mentors, and it just so happens that Maple and Willow are two opposites. Maple the monster and Willow the human. Willow looks at her confusingly as Maple yanks out a chair and sits down, clearly infuriated.

"Problem, Maple?"

"We're switching," Maple says gruffly. "That girl is impossible. I'm not dealing with her. You can take her, I'll have Aspen."

"Excuse me?" Willow raises her eyebrows in response. "You don't get to decide which tribute you mentor."

"No, that stupid decision was chosen by Snow, I know."

"So be quiet and suck it up."

Maple snaps her head at me, staring. "You go deal with her. You're district partners, you need to "bond" apparently."

For some reason, I rise out my seat quickly, rushing out the room and down the hall to Evy's bedroom. I knock twice for politeness, but when I get no reply, I begin the usual chant of knocks I do at home. It was to always annoy Reyna as revenge. She was a pain, but I loved her all the same. Same for Oliver, the idiot thinking he should volunteer for me. He's younger, naive, and with no family. But that doesn't mean he should risk his life for mine.

The door swings open, revealing Evy, already dressed for training.

She flashes a brief smile as she whips her hair into a ponytail, stepping out and closing the door behind her, walking off. I stand there for a moment in silence before I hear Maple's voice complain at Evy, the ding of an elevator and then Willow scoffing. She's quite tough and rough, strong willed and determined. When I enter back into the main area, Willow and Maple are having a heated discussion, no doubt over Evy's apparent attitude towards Maple.

It takes a lot not to laugh at everything as I walk to the elevator myself, grabbing an apple off of the table.

I like Evy. I like her a lot.

* * *

**Twill Mousseline, District Eight Female.**

* * *

The elevator slows down to a halt, a mechanical whirl ringing out. Nate whistles as the door opens to reveal the Training Centre, clapping his hands together slowly.

"This is impressive," Nate murmurs not so quietly. When I look at him, he shrugs. "Just because I might die doesn't mean I can't enjoy the scenery along the way."

"I never said anything." I reply quietly.

We step out into the large room, lights hanging up high on the metal ceiling beams and illuminating the many different weapons. A woman stands on a raised platform in the middle, a small ring of tributes around her, but definitely not twenty-four. We're not late, then, despite Nate taking his time to devour as much food as possible at breakfast. For some reason, Nate doesn't leave my side despite our agreement to not become allies. When he stand a bit closer, my eyes are instantly drawn to one tribute in particular. A small, dark-skinned boy with an 11 stitched into his suit.

I don't know whether I smile or frown at him, but his instant response is to glare and roll his eyes in disgust.

Anger burns inside me for some reason.

The lady introduces herself as Athena, before she reminds us that we should try a mixture rather than just one thing. Of course, everyone will have different ideas in their mind, different strategies, so what she's saying doesn't really matter too much.

"Remember," Athena stops, taking a dramatic pause and staring at each individual differently. "This is a Quarter Quell, and no Quell has ever been normal. No amounts of training can prepare you. Instead, I suggest you block up on knowledge and everything you can, whilst expecting the worse outcome possible."

When no-one responds, Athena nods, standing down and letting us go.

When I look to my side, Nate is already gone, running off because he's seen something shiny, no doubt. I stand around a little while, watching the boy from Eleven continue his disgusted look as he makes his way timidly towards a knives section.

Rather than weapons, for now, I walk over to the hand-to-hand fighting section, watching the trainer make a stance at my arrival. I copy him, preparing myself before she flings herself at me with a kick. I manage to dodge it, punching out and narrowly missing her stomach. We repeat the action for a while until I land a direct hit to her ribs, which she cries out a little. We stop and she collects some gloves, telling me to punch and hit them as hard as possible.

It's like breathing for me.

Through my dark period, I fought a lot of people. Random girls in the streets. Bullies at school who pushed me too far. Some woman who got too mouthy and more. I needed something, anything to release the pressure that was encasing my skull and squeezing it tightly. Fighting was the best thing for me.

My reaping seems in contrast to my earlier life. I fainted whilst Nate managed to shine brightly.

I punch out as hard as I can, squeezing my eyes shut and putting all my strength into my fist. It slams into the glove, knocking the trainer backwards. She smiles underneath her mask, but it doesn't make me feel any better. Nothing does at the moment. I don't know whether to feel terrified, angry, or just to curl up into a ball on the floor and cry my eyes out. Instead, I send a flying fist at the trainer, whose off-guard, and it slams into her ribs once more.

When she buckles over on the floor, I feel a sense of accomplishment. The same feeling that arrived when I released my pressure on those people I beat up.

And that sorts my emotions out itself.

* * *

**Poppy Spool, District Nine Female.**

* * *

I watch as Dagan repeatedly slams a pitchfork into the white dummy, shreds and fluffy pieces of cotton floating to the ground. I bring my knees up tighter to my chest, holding on, holding myself together, you could say.

No-one would want to be my ally. Who would want to work alongside the mute girl? It's not like I could help them. That we could work together, communicate with each other, help each other out. It's hopeless. I'm hopeless. Dagan hits the newest dummy again, smiling at the girl from Five as she stands nearby, twisting a knot together. He's already found a potential ally. He has the ability to speak, a lot more than I can do.

I was born mute.

For some reason, I just decided to never gurgle or cry when I was a baby. When my mother took me to the local doctor, he diagnosed me as mute. Apparently, not everything grew properly. I can't remember the proper words or problem, I just remember tears rolling down my face silently and the constant urge to scream out loud despite it being impossible. I grew up different to every other child; being mute does that.

No-one wants to know the weird child who can't say anything. No. They judge a book by it's cover before they really try to understand them.

The girl from Five moves away towards the fire-making station, and Dagan clings onto his pitchfork and walks away, almost following her.

Buck and Bailey asked Dagan to be my ally last night. He wasn't keen about it, but he agreed to look out for me during the bloodbath to make sure I didn't die that quickly. Instead, he asked them to talk to the Five mentors and get some information about the girl, who I'm almost sure that Dagan likes.

"Can you move?"

I move my eyes to the side, seeing the boy from Eleven standing there, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at me. I make a hand movement to show him I can't speak, but instead, he sighs.

"Oh, you're that mute girl," Eleven's sigh turns into a small smirk. "Good. Girls should be seen and not heard anyway."

I'm taken back by his sudden cold attitude towards me. I mean, if you look at him, he's small, young, and almost innocent looking. But then again, I'm the epitome of a judged book, and I must have done the same to him. I climb up, stepping aside for him to walk past. He picks up something from the table behind me, moving away again and looking at me over his shoulder.

"If only all girls were like you. The world would be a much better place then."

And then, he disappears into the crowd.

I'm left slightly speechless, trying to find Dagan once more. I watch him leave his pitchfork on the floor, running through the gauntlet and slamming into the many little obstacles in his way. Five watches from the side, but when Dagan turns around to grin at her, probably hoping he impressed her, she's gone once more, too busy at another harmless, survival station.

Everyone else would have it more easier than me.

Everyone else does have it easier than me.

And so, I sit back down on the floor, tucking my knees underneath my chin and trying my hardest not to cry. Not that anyone would hear me anyway.

* * *

**Kieran DeLuca, District Ten Female.**

* * *

After watching the girl from Eight practically destroy the trainer in hand-to-hand combat, and then watching Sawyer try and fail at doing the same, I walk over, confident in myself. Growing up in the orphanage provided some useful techniques. You had to learn these things not to get your teeth kicked out every time you done something remotely wrong.

The trainer takes the stance I walk her do with Eight, before I fly straight into a kick without warning. It hits and she stumbles backwards.

Most important I learned besides fighting? Attack before they can think it. Nobody will live if they were considerate of others.

We tussle back and forth for a while, the trainer opting out and another female taking over. She's a lot stronger, my hits smack into her less and less, and after a while, she manages to take me down and put me to the floor, hands held on my shoulders.

"One swift movement and your neck would be broken," she says emotionless, stepping back. "Don't be so rash."

I stand up, dusting myself off, only to hear someone behind me clap shortly. When I turn around, I notice the boy from Three standing there, eyes trained on the space between me and the trainer.

"You know, if you had moved to the side just a centimeter more, you would have avoided the entire sweep of her kick and wouldn't have been tripped."

I stare at the boy, deciding whether he's insane, rude or just generally an idiot. "I can handle myself, thanks."

"I'm just pointing it out," Three looks up at me this time, not staring at the floor. "Just a centimeter. That's all."

"And you would know this how?"

Three shrugs. "I just do. Anyway, centimeter, remember that."

And with that, Three turns around and walks away. I'm left deciding whether to run at him and hit him for trying to belittle me or to accept what he says. When I turn around, the trainer is smirking at me behind her mask, feet poised to hit me once more. I resume my position, we fight, and this time when she sweeps her ankle out, I step to the side a little more, her foot completely missing me.

So he was right.

I walk away from the trainer, my eyes scanning the area for the boy. I don't know why I'm going to find him. But with his smarts and my street-smarts, we'd easily dominate all the other alliances. I find him standing a little bit away, talking to the boy from Eight.

"Kieran, by the way," I say as I get closer, watching them both turn around and face me. "I guess you were right."

"I tend to always be right, but yeah, I guess so," Three shrugs like before. "And I'm Chip."

I look at Chip, trying to completely ignore Eight from the corner of my eye, but it's hard since his grin is so impossibly wide and bright. "Do you feel like being allies?"

"Sure." Chip replies without a speck of true care.

"I would love too." Eight joins in, too, but when I look at him, it's hard to say no; that smile could melt any heart, even the coldest like mine.

* * *

**Otto Drake, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

For some reason, I don't feel like being on my own, and at the same time, being around Ida and Ambrosia slightly sickens me. I will never understand how Ida ever won. The woman is short and thin, hollow cheeks and large, cartoon-like fingers. Her Games became semi-legendary in Eleven, but I don't see it.

She won by outrunning everyone else. When the volcano erupted, and the fire wave washed over the arena, it was safe to say the better runner and climber would survive. It should have been a guy. Logically, a guy is more built physically than a woman, and yet, Ida won. She beat out all the other tributes, majority of whom were boys, because lets face it, all the other girls would have got themselves killed early on. All bloodbath material, if you ask me.

Ambrosia shifts in her seat as Mako appears carrying a bowl of tomato soup for Ida.

"Here you go, they had no chicken soup left." Mako smiles fondly, handing the bowl to her.

Ambrosia visibly flinches at the mere sight of the red liquid, whilst I'm left wondering why Mako, a man, fetched soup for Ida, a woman. It should have been the other way around. Of course it should. You'd never catch me doing anything for my mother. She birthed me, and therefore, it's her responsible to make sure that I am happy and satisfied.

"Did you want anything, Otto?" Ida asks.

I snap my eyes at her, before looking back. "A new mentor and allies, please."

"Otto..."

"No," I say back to Ida. "This isn't fair. I should be allowed to choose my own mentors and allies. You shouldn't be allowed to tell me what to do whatsoever."

"You don't get a choice, boy," Mako grumbles from his seat. "Suck it up and deal with it all. You want to die quickly? Fine, but don't put Ida out. You want to survive? Grow a pair and listen to her more often. She was a Victor, she won, you might not."

"It doesn't really matter if I win," I say, despite knowing I want nothing more than to return home to my father. "As long as I die myself and before Ambrosia, I am great."

Ambrosia looks at me with a mix of confusion and sadness, but it doesn't affect. Girls and their emotions are like rollercoasters. My sister was the same when she was reaped. Olympia was just as whiny, annoying and flighty. I can't say her death affected me too much either; one less annoyance around the home.

"Your attitude will get you in trouble." Mako grumbles again.

I look to him, noticing the piercing daggers in his eyes in response to my smirk. "So sue me."

* * *

**Hacket Bruckwill, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

Margot is quick to go to bed, slamming the door loudly, no doubt to rattle Peeta. He said something she didn't really like, and her reaction was to storm out like a toddler. Not that it bothers me. Margot doesn't affect my life too much, besides the occasion where she decides to be a tad awkward. It doesn't take Peeta long either to evacuate to the bedroom, too.

I sit there in the darkness for a while, the light from outside casting shadows across the floor.

I don't know why I'm not bothered by being here. Everyone else would be either terrified or for the Careers, ecstatic.

Yet, somehow, it doesn't bother me too much. If it happens, it happens, if it doesn't, it doesn't. I don't see the point in stressing about something you have no control over whatsoever. That's why I'm not going to make allies with anyone. Is there any point? Sooner or later, I'll have to kill them, and I'd rather they just die themselves then me having to worry about doing it instead. That way, I can focus solely on my own survival and not someone else's.

Margot nor Peeta will ever understand that.

Peeta spent his arena days with a girl or the Careers. I mean, it's not hard to not know. Everyone knows about his and Haymitch Abernathy's Games. Both the past Quarter Quells.

Margot, on the other hand, seems determined to find an alliance that will accept her. It's not even that she likes people that much. She's rather bitter and reclusive, and yet, she says being on your own is a death sentence that's stronger than a reaping slip. Somehow I can't see that, but I won't question her, just because Margot seems like the person to attack someone if they disagree.

When I hear footsteps against the floor, I turn to the source, seeing Margot's blurred figure.

She walks briskly to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it up with water. When I hear the tap stop, I face forward, choosing not to look at her.

"Oh Hacket, no need to stare," Margot teases harshly from behind. "It's rude either way."

"It's not really."

"Sure thing," Margot pauses for a moment, her footsteps getting lighter and lighter, until she seems far away. "Good luck anyway."

That confuses me. "Good luck for what?"

But, there's no reply, and instead, I hear a door close once more. Margot can be incredibly strange sometimes. Maybe that will help her and maybe it will be more of a hindrance I don't know. I don't really care, either, but I'm curious. Curious to see how Margot will handle the potential horrors installed for us all in a few days. Curious to see how I'll handle it all, too. I let my eyes drift close, the last image being the sight of the moonlight hitting the water in my own glass.

No-one disturbs me throughout the night, and instead, I just seem to dream about everything to do with Twelve.

Everything I'll never see again.

And somehow, I try to convince dream-Hacket that it isn't all real. That you'll see it all again; because you will win.

* * *

**Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

******I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Out of the 12 tributes POV's presented, who stood out to you and why? Again, more than one if you want. :p)_**

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**For people who don't know my pattern, there will be four pre-Games chapters to be completed. These twelve tributes are Slot One, their district partners are Slot Two, and they will rotate until all four chapters are completed and the tributes are then in the arena. The four chapters will cover the entire portion before the Games (interviews, training, private scores, launch)**

**After all this is done, bloodbath tributes are decided!**


	5. Skinny Love

**Skinny Love.**

_Who will love you? __Who will fight? __And who will fall far behind?_

* * *

**Honor Elliot, District One Female.**

* * *

I have no care or need for this. I really don't. Out of all the others, I'm probably the most least concerned with training and fighting and killing and just everything. Lamont is different since whilst he doesn't show it, you can tell that training for the Games was something that dominated his life and changed his personality. I doubt he was born to be a killer. More like changed into one.

"Do you plan on doing anything amazing today to secure your position in the alliance?" Zircon asks from across the breakfast table, a smirk playing on his lips.

I shrug my shoulders. I don't really want to do it whatsoever. "Possibly."

"Become the leader of the Careers," Zircon suddenly laughs. "Imagine that. That would really put Maverick's nose out of joint."

Zircon has a special distaste for Maverick, the District Two mentor. It's something both apparent and secluded. Maverick makes it clear that he hates all One tributes, and often reminds his tributes to do their best in killing the others off quickly. I should know; Maverick was probably the mentor of the Two girl that carved my sister Vanity up. Like a robot controlling her. But, then again, Vanity was arrogant and obnoxious and enjoyed killing; everything that I am not.

In retaliation, Zircon is determined to prove that One tributes are just as deadly, if not more, than Two tributes. Like a battle of the monsters.

Lamont doesn't say anything when he sips some milk. I wonder if he feels out of place with Zircon suggesting I become the leader? Probably not. Something tells me that whilst Lamont will surely be an enigma in the Games, he won't take the leader role. A Two tribute will claim that whether Zircon likes it or not. I would assume Cyra, just because she seems the type to really enjoy undermining everyone else.

Yet, yesterday, she stuck to using her scythe and nothing else.

If she thinks she's fooling anyone, she's mistaken, her mask just isn't as good as mine, sadly. No-one knows how to hide their true feelings better than me. I've been doing it my entire life and not one person has ever found out.

"Lamont, would you try for the leader spot?" Tassle perks up all of a sudden, gazing at him.

Lamont looks up with an aggravated look on his face, not answering her whatsoever, before he goes back to his food. He hasn't said a single word to Tassle since arriving. Something tells me that he either doesn't approve of her, or he generally hates her guts. Then again, if Lamont doesn't show emotions, is he capable of feeling them? Another question I don't really know. He could be a heartless monster then.

I climb up out of my chair after a while in time with Lamont.

We don't say anything as we walk to the elevator together, shoulder to shoulder, but not near enough to touch. We might be district partners, but we are not allies. Careers, yes, but you can never truly trust anyone in that. The whole time we're training together, I'll be watching, studying what they do and finding their weak points. I won't play it how Vanity did. No. That would be stupid. Instead, I'll play it how I've lived my life.

Hidden underneath a masquerade of mystery.

The doors slide open and Lamont slides in, face completely pale and solid. He looks at me for a brief moment, but I don't see nothing but dead eyes. No real life in them. Just a hollow shell walking around and killing.

He'd make a perfect Victor.

* * *

**Ajax Rogue, District Two Male.**

* * *

Marlin and Azolla keep to themselves. When me and Cyra entered, they were already out there, not bothering to look at us. Marlin waved his hand as he tied a knot and watched as Azolla done exactly the same, probably a lot quicker than he actually did. Cyra knocked my arm and I tried everything not to make a remark about touching me. It's not that it bothers me. She does, though.

The elevator doors open, a few tributes from the lower districts walking out.

Another ding, another slide, and Lamont and Honor deposit themselves. Both walk straight to us, neither showing any sign of emotions. I've come to learn that the pair are literally emotionless zombies. At least with Cyra she shows something, no matter how much you want to smack her for it.

"Beauty and the Beast are getting cosy over there," Cyra smirks when the pair get closer, knocking her head in the direction of the lovers. "Looks like no matter how together we'll all be, we'll be divided."

She says it so sarcastically, I actually want to laugh. But I don't. I smirk, looking at the pair as Lamont shrugs once more, walking away.

"Rude." Cyra moans.

"He's like that," Honor responds. "Just leave him alone."

"Awh, is someone smitten with the little monster?" Cyra mocks openly, but it doesn't affect Honor as she too just walks away.

"How arrogant of them both. Just walking away without saying goodbye."

"It's clearly you, you know," I roll my eyes. "There's just something about you that repels everyone. It could be the layer of thick perfume you smother yourself in every morning."

"It's intoxicating."

"No, it's just toxic," I smirk, turning around and stepping backwards. "And now, I shall leave you before I choke."

I don't wait for Cyra to respond, since I know that it will be either really nasty and witty or just plain sarcastic. I haven't really learned the difference for Cyra. The only good thing about her is her ability to actually make people feel crap about themselves with just a few words. I admire it and at the same time, I loathe it. I make my way over towards the spears, deciding that's the best bet. Both me and Cyra want the leader spot. Marlin and Azolla are too pre-occupied with being with each other, whilst Lamont and Honor don't show any real want for it. That leaves us both and I'll be damned if Cyra beats me to it.

I grab the spear, poising it ready to fly. With a heavy thrust, it flies through the air, landing just a little bit off the centre of the target. So close. So perfect.

I hear a small around of applause, which makes me feel better, until I realise it's Cyra whose doing it, no doubt mocking me from afar. Other tributes become to pour in, and when Cyra sees the girl from Nine, her next target clearly, she walks away with a flip of her hair. I quickly find my allies; Lamont swinging around a deadly machete, Honor and a sword and Marlin and Azolla still playing with pathetic knots.

I wonder if my brother's allies were like this. I know for a fact that Honor's sister was one of his, but he died way before the rest of the Careers brutally murdered her.

At this rate, if Cyra isn't careful, we'll end up doing that to her just so that we don't have to hear her blasted voice again.

* * *

**Danielle Rune, District Three Female.**

* * *

I watch in amazement as Chip interacts with the rest of his allies, the boy from Eight and the girl from Ten. He didn't have any problem despite his apparent hard shell and lack of proper social skills. He's a nice guy, I admit, but he has a tendency to give his opinion on every single thing that doesn't concern him because he thinks he's right. He probably is, but sometimes, when you're annoyed or sad, it's really not needed and he looks incredibly arrogant.

Somehow, he always talks to me when I'm in the wrong mood.

I don't mean to be. It just comes naturally.

I twist the knot around the other, but it doesn't look right. I put it down, collecting another piece of rope and trying again, which also fails. I hear the trainer smirk, and when I look up, he looks at me with narrow eyes.

"You're doing it all wrong. You go under and then over, not over and then under."

I nod silently, trying again. It takes a while, but I finally get it all done, the knot perfectly shaped and tied.

My eyes gaze back over to Chip and his allies, the girl from Twelve nearby them, showing them something over by the plants section. I watch curiously as she gets the trainer to switch up the plants and switch them all around, mixing poisonous with harmless. She closes her eyes, he moves them around, and when she opens them, she puts them all back into the right spot they were in previously. The boy from Eight grins. The girl from Ten claps and smirks.

Chip, on the other hand, moves forward and flips two around. She obviously got them wrong. He's just trying to prove to her that he's right.

"Your district partner has a habit of doing that." a voice says.

I look over my shoulder at the boy from Seven, standing tall and smiling kindly.

"He does." I say, and when it comes out, I wince at how blunt it sounded.

"I've watched him do that often enough," Seven laughs. "My district partner, Evy, she was swinging an axe around and he told her that she was doing it wrong. She didn't take it too well. In fact, I think she went bright red and stomped away from him."

I don't know why he's telling me this. Why he's actually being kind. I doubt I'm that important to his life or I make that much of an impression that he feels the need to come and talk to me. If anything, I feel like I just blend in the background, hidden and elusive. It would be a great strategy in the arena, but out here, you need to make some sort of impression, and that's my own downfall.

Then, it hits me when he sits down next to me, taking a knot into his hand and inspecting it.

"This is really good, you know," Seven smiles at the object. "I'm Aspen, by the way, and I guess this is my pretty pathetic way of inviting you to our alliance."

Even though I'd never admit it, it makes me feel a bit better about everything. Even if Evy probably didn't mean it.

* * *

**Marlin Roth, District Four Male.**

* * *

"Marlin, stop it."

I look to Azolla, seeing the conflicted smile on her face. She smiles, and yet, she's trying to be strict and strong with me. It's cute. Azolla is quite cute. I saw her around Four quite a lot surprisingly. Four isn't large, but it's not small, and you'd be surprised at the many faces that tend to not show. When you look at Azolla, it's not a face you could forget so easily.

"I don't want to," I smirk back. "How about you just go ahead and try it?"

Azolla's smile stays put, but she comes forward, collecting the trident from the rack and coming to stand by me, a dummy down on the floor. I poise the trident over the heart and chest, hovering there, into it plunges into the white fabric.

I've been teasing her about this all morning. For some reason, Azolla takes offence that in her whole life and living in the Fishing district, she's never handled a trident. I want to show. I want to help her with it. And so, when she hesitates, I wrap my hand over hers, feeling the heat as I take control, poising the trident in the right spot. I lean over, my breath tickling her ear.

"You just push," I whisper smoothly. "Push as hard as you can downwards."

Azolla makes some sort of giggling noise as she stabs down surprisingly hard. I didn't even have to help her. She could do it all herself.

"See, I told you you could do it." I grin.

Azolla returns the grin, shyly tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I guess so. Still. You didn't have to be so mean."

"I'm only mean because I care," I stick my tongue out. "Besides, you love it, don't deny that."

Azolla smiles again, and I can't pull my eyes away from the light blush that powders her cheek. Over her shoulder, though, I can see Cyra, watching intently on Azolla's back. When she meets my eyes, she winks flirtatiously, before swinging her scythe over her shoulder and beginning to walk away with a swish in her step. Azolla notices me looking past her and spins around.

"She keeps doing that," Azolla admits. "Every time I think she stops, she goes again, just staring at me."

"Maybe she's jealous."

"Maybe she just wants me dead," Azolla says far too seriously for my liking. "I mean, that's the whole point of this, isn't it? To want each other dead?"

That rings in my ears, rattling around in my brain like a loose piece of stone being kicked through the air. We do want each other dead. Well, we should want each other dead. If Cyra is so keen on Azolla's early demise, then that must mean that one of the others is begging for my blood. All of the reaped are begging for my blood to be spilled so they can go home. I chose this. They were forced into this. That's the biggest difference.

I can almost perfectly remember the scream my mother shouted. How she begged me afterwards to just come home to her. How she couldn't lose someone else, too. She'll never understand my reason. But when I come home, she will, and then I can show her that all of this was for us, not just me. To do that, though, Azolla must die.

Right now, that's something I just can't bear to think about.

* * *

**Nomen Clature, District Five Male.**

* * *

Everything looks at me and judges. At times, I find it amusing, the simple people assuming that because I'm smart that I'm instantly weak. That's why I am better than them. I know for a fact that everyone is dangerous in one way or another. No-one is perfect, although I border rather close to it.

I have a plan.

A great plan.

I was going to wait until next year, my final year, to volunteer myself and shock the entire population of Five. We never, ever, get volunteers from our district. It's more of a death sentence than an honour. But, fate plays the piano perfectly, and now, I'm here to celebrate the death of a fallen tribute with my last name. I know exactly who. My brother, Pilus. I'm here all because of him. And because of that, I can commence my plan. It's ironic, since I created this plan to avenge his death, and I'm here this year rather than next year because of his death.

It's all so poetic and perfect.

I collect my wires from the trainer that hands me them with a frown, no doubt wondering why I said no to his offer for electrical conductors.

I've been preparing for this. I worked out all the possible outcomes, the throwbacks and the positives of it all. Nothing can really go wrong as long as I have my wires.

Dropping them to the floor, I sit down, legs crossed, playing with them and running them through my fingers. I look up when I notice Hayl near me, still trying all her survival skills. Last night, she made it clear to both Cordelia and Zeke that she wasn't going to try any weapons whatsoever. Pathetic. Does she think she can survive without hurting someone?

When we catch eyes, Hayl's waver for a second before going strong and then soft, all in one little look.

It's amazing.

Hayl might be weak in body and mind, but she's quite tough in spirit. And by that, I mean, she fights for her beliefs before she caves in. So, maybe not superhuman strong in spirit, but definitely a tiny bit.

"You sure you don't want any electrical conductors?" the trainer beckons to me.

I look to him and smile, "No, it's okay, I think I have everything I need."

I pair the two important wires up together, linking more and more onto them, making a small train of wires looped and twisted together, different colours and different sizes. It'll work. Of course it'll work. I mean, I've been planning this for a while now. I have this secure and imprinted in my brain. There isn't any way that it could go wrong. No matter what gets thrown at me, I'll overcome it. I have to. I'm going to. There's no other way around it because Nomen Clature is one of a kind.

And after the Games, he'll be the only one alive.

* * *

**Noelle Alcott, District Six Female.**

* * *

I stand by Sawyer's side, watching the girl from Two continually slash the white dummy in front of her rapidly, faster and faster, gaining in speed and power. She takes a swing at the head, but the scythe doesn't go all the way through. It stops halfway through the neck, and she can't push it on any further. She doesn't seem too bothered by it, but I can see the twinge of annoyance in her eyes.

Just behind her, however, her district partner lands a direct hit on the target and whoops in appreciation.

She glares at him, before looking to both me and Sawyer, side by side, eyes glued on her.

"Awh, how cute," Two mocks us, hands on her hips. "I hope you two do very well in there and don't get split up. I mean, I doubt one of you will survive on their own without the other, right? Of course I'm right. Stick with that. Perfect material for a Victor."

I know she doesn't mean it. Getting attached and having a friend would never, ever be perfect material for a Victor. To be one, you need to be evil, a killer, heartless, cold and just generally detached from the world to be able to cope. Lorcan won last year and has been sound since then. Wisp, my mentor, on the other hand, has nightmares every now and then, and his booming voice bounces around the room on some nights.

Two winks and walks away. I can almost feel Sawyer grow tense right next to me.

"Screw her." Sawyer growls under his breath.

I look to him, my eyebrows knitting together. "She's just doing it to scare us. Everyone will do it."

"Doesn't make it right," Sawyer glares straight forward. "She's baiting us out when she can't even back her own words."

"She could."

"You know what Noelle? I need some time alone." Sawyer declares, walking away without letting me respond.

It's just like Six all over again. My heart sinks a little as I stand there, small and timid and alone, in the middle of a center with other children fighting around me. My eyes scan the room, finding the other alliances. Everyone has someone. Milo does, too, the pair from Seven and the girl from Three. I could have asked to join them, and instead, I was drawn to befriending Sawyer. Something about being the same age and the hope in his eyes made me want to get to know him. Yet, he does nothing but be rude to me.

I watch him stop by a survival station containing plants.

He turns around and looks at me, a cross between anger and acceptance in his eyes. He waves his hand for me to come over, and just like always, I move without thinking, desperate to be accepted by my ally. I need someone and Sawyer is the only one left.

He hands me a large, speckled leaf when I get there, folding it into my hand.

"Put it in your mouth," he says without looking at me. "It's a peppermint leaf. You can eat it."

I do exactly what he says, and when I swallow it, I see the ghost of a smile on his face. I smile too. I just want to be accepted, and if this is how I have to do it, then so be it. Sawyer continues to do whatever he does, checking each leaf, examining it and then placing it on his tongue when the trainer confirms that he is indeed right about it not being poisonous. After a while, he lets me have a go, and I'm surprised when I get the first two right before he knocks the third from my hand, saying it's dangerous. He seems almost angry at me not getting it right, but soon, he smiles and everything is okay.

Sawyer begins to walk away and I start following. "Where are we going now?"

"Weapons," Sawyer says shortly. "I want to do some more of that."

I have no say it what we do. I just follow. But, I want, no, need acceptance, and that's something I have to give up in order to gain what I want.

* * *

**Evy Redwood, District Seven Female.**

* * *

Aspen grabs the hatchet from the table, flipping it in his hands, before he laughs and throws it to Milo.

It's dangerous. It's stupid. It also happens to be Aspen.

Milo barely catches it safely, the silver just inches from his hand, ready to cut. He seems almost too shocked by what just happened. Danielle, on the other hand, moves closer to the station and begins inspecting the more larger knives. She examines each one careful, before moving on and looking at another.

Our alliance has to be one of the more dysfunctional.

Aspen is a child. Milo is quiet and naive. Danielle is quiet and I'm not exactly that friendly. Yet, we became an alliance. If anything, Aspen was the one to collect everyone, Danielle being the newest member to join us. For some reason, Willow has got it into his mind that by having more allies, you'll be safer and stronger than being on your own. I don't believe that. I believe the best way is to be on your own, sneak your way through the competition and kill when someone finds you.

It's been done before. My twin brother had that plan when he entered.

And, well, I wouldn't be here now if he had succeeded.

"C'mon Danielle, live a little," Aspen jokes from a little bit away, a hatchet in his hands and an exact copy in Milo's next to him. Danielle stands by my side, stiff. "You need to learn something. I could teach you a few things about the hatchet and how to work it."

Danielle plays with her thumbs and shakes her head. "I'm okay thanks. I think I just want to learn some more survival stuff, if that's okay."

Aspen nods, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. He isn't that used to being told no, and, overall, being rejected in any sense. I get the feeling that when it comes to it, Aspen is used to having everything his own way. He looks at me, smirking.

"No," I say clearly. "I'm not playing with your silly little hatchet."

"Someone is just scared that they can't handle one."

"No," I repeat myself. "I'm not playing with your silly little hatchet. The point I'm trying to get across is playing, Aspen, since I could do it in my sleep. Try an axe and then we'll see."

Aspen just smirks at my retaliation and begins to instruct Milo on how to attack and swing it all properly. I see Danielle look at me from the corner of my eye, but I don't really pay much attention as I grab the axe from behind me and begin walking over to them. Both of the boys are stood either side of the dummy, leaving it open, and bringing the axe up, I slam it into the soft fabric statue that stands between them. Milo's eyes go wide. Aspen continues to smile.

"I told you." I smile sarcastically to him, whipping my hair and walking away.

Danielle smiles softly as I walk by, and I return it, but only slightly. I'm still not too happy about being with any of them, but, the sneak strategy didn't work with my brother, so I guess I can't do much but try the opposite and see if that works. They all clearly need an alliance and a leader. I guess I just have to be that, then.

* * *

**Nate Lawson, District Eight Male.**

* * *

"You're doing well," I say to Twill, currently bent over and attaching a shin pad to her knee. She looks up and flashes a brief smile. "I watched you kick that trainer's ass! You have some serious badassery, Twill."

"Thanks," Twill stands up and pats me on the shoulder lightly. "Have fun."

For some reason, the way she says it, I get the feeling she only half means it. I doubt it's her fault or that she means it. She's just not as friendly as me, clearly, but even I have my downfalls. People often see me as overbearing or annoying. I just try to be nice, that's all, nothing sinister.

I wait until Twill has gone before I walk back over to Kieran and Margot, both having a heated discussion over something.

"I'm just saying that there's no point in taking on the Cornucopia when you could die." Margot rolls her eyes.

"And I'm just saying that we don't have great plant knowledge and everything, so how the hell are we going to survive then?"

"I just showed you," Margot semi-screams. "I have a great memory. I can remember what plants we can eat. Seriously, Kieran, stop going against me on everything."

"I'm not going against you, I'm just saying that trying the Cornucopia can't hurt!"

"No, it can kill us instead!"

I stand there, only really noticing Chip right next to me when he coughs a little loudly. He stares at the two girls who stop arguing almost instantly, both looking at Chip with agitated eyes. Neither of them says anything, and Chip does nothing either except stare right back. We stand there in silence for a little while until Chip speaks up finally.

"Why were you two arguing?"

Both girls go to open their mouths, but I cut them off, hoping to prevent more. "Over whether or not to attempt the Cornucopia."

If you could, you would see the gears churning and rolling around in Chip's mind, determining whether or not the option is logical. In the short span that I've known him, I've learned one thing, and that is Chip is never, ever wrong.

"I think it's more logical if we wait," Chip decides, which only makes Kieran smile victoriously and Margot roll her eyes again. "We do not know what the arena will be like. Bolt said that either though the stations give ideas, when it comes to Quells, it could be exactly the opposite of what you really needed to learn. Nothing is set in stone until the day before launch. So, there might not be plants. It could be indoors. So I suggest we wait, look at the arena, and then choose."

"And how are we suppose to communicate when we're nowhere near each other?" Margot asks, irritated slightly.

"Through eyes," Chip states plainly. "We look around and pass a psychological message."

Everyone shares a confused look, but nothing deters Chip. He just stares at each of us carefully, smiles a charming smile, and then makes his way towards the station that Margot and Kieran stand in front of. No-one says anything and I can't help but smile at my new-found friends.

* * *

**Dagan Grove, District Nine Male.**

* * *

"You need to leave me alone."

Hayl's eyes doesn't meet mine, but I know the comment is directed to me. She keeps her eyes trained on the cafeteria tray she slides along the bars, eyes focused on the assortment of foods, steam drifting up from most of them. I keep my tray planted on the bars, my eyes trained on her moving form.

"I heard you the first few times," I smirk, but Hayl doesn't notice. "I'm just saying that you don't have an ally, I don't have an ally, it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"I don't really want an ally." Hayl mumbles, scooping a serving of peas onto her plate.

"Nobody really wants one," I say, taking the ladel she drops and doing the exact same. "I mean, sure, I actually do want an ally, but you have to be picky and choose wisely."

"Maybe you should review your choices then." Hayl mumbles again.

Somehow, I feel like I'm making her uncomfortable. She doesn't let her eyes drift to me at all. She keeps her arms near her body when she slides the tray along and chooses her food. I feel slightly guilty by it, but I'm determined. I'm always determined over a lot of things, but there's something about Hayl, something about the way she moves and acts and looks that makes me want to be her ally.

"I'm usually never wrong," I say, watching her collect the next choice of food; carrots. "Look, I'm not going to beg for you to be my ally. It just makes sense, that's all."

Hayl stops for a moment, almost pondering her thoughts. She takes her tray without saying anything, moving over to a table nearby. I watch her take her seat, the table just behind her containing Poppy on her own, slowly eating. I feel sorry for her, I really do, but there's not much I can say or do that would make her situation any better. She knows she's going to struggle no matter what.

That's when someone steps into my way; the girl from Two with a sweet but false smile on her face.

"I watched you train, you know," she says confidently. "I think you have potential."

"Potential?"

"You know, to make the Careers," she keeps the smile in tact, and just over her shoulder, I can see Hayl curiously watching us. "We don't normally take outer district tributes. But, we could make an exception for you. You're probably better than some of the Careers always trained for it."

I look over at Hayl more seriously, trying to understand what she might be thinking by looking at her. I get a solid answer almost straightaway.

"I'm okay thanks. I have dignity and honor. But, I'll tell you what," I get a little closer, closing the gap between us. "I'll leave you alone. That's right. I promise not to hunt each and every single one of you down until I'm forced to, on the condition you leave me and Hayl alone. I won't go for you and you don't go for me."

"And what makes you think I'm going to agree to that?" Two laughs.

"Trust me, you should," I step back and smile. "Because as you said, I have potential, and I have the potential to be your worst nightmare."

With that, I step around a shocked Two, tray in hand and going to sit opposite Hayl. When I take my seat, she smiles softly, nodding.

"Okay then. We'll be allies."

* * *

**Sawyer Chance, District Ten Male.**

* * *

After lunch, everyone goes and trains some more. Me and Noelle decide to part for a while and try different stations. I went straight to collect some rope from one of the stations. It's unethical, but it could work if I get close to someone. It'd be more than easy to wrap it around their neck and tighten it, putting in a knot for good measure and allowing them to strangle.

I don't want to. I'm probably to small to reach half of them anyway. But, I don't really have a choice if I want to actually live. I have to kill. I have to.

Noelle attempts to throw some knives, and after a while and constant training from the trainer, Noelle manages to land a target. Not a direct bullseye or near the middle whatsoever. It lands on the edge of the entire circle, but it's something. It shows that Noelle could hit a target if she needed to, but her shot wouldn't be fateful. It would make a good strategy, actually. Noelle could go for their legs, they fall, then I'll tie the rope around their neck and strangle them.

Again, it's unethical, but it could work. And as much as I don't trust Noelle and can't ever like her, we need to work together to make it anywhere. On my own, I doubt I could do it. I'd probably be bloodbathed so easily.

The mere thought is enough for me to tighten my grip around the dummy's throat.

Noelle notices from her standing position, a knife poised in her hand. She offers a comforting smile which I don't return, but I know she's won't hate me for it. Sadly, the best and worst thing about Noelle is that she's loyal. You could insult her and even really hurt her feelings, and at the end of the day, she'll come back to you, just because she doesn't have anyone else. It's kind of sad, and whilst it shows she's loyal, it could be used against her. She's the opposite of me and my naturally wary nature.

My fingers begin to tingle and I release my grip, noticing the fine blue lines stretching down them.

Then, she's next to me, all innocent and trusting, a knife still in her hand, though.

"Are you okay, Sawyer? You looked distracted."

"I'm fine," I reply bluntly, wincing at how harsh I actually am to her. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Noelle smiles again.

We stand there for a few, awkward seconds in silence, before Noelle lifts the knife and shows me it.

"They say these are the best ones for throwing. I'm getting better each time."

I don't know why she's telling me this, and then I remember that we're allies and that we share all these things in order to have a functional alliance. I untangle the rope from around the waist of the dummy, showing it to her. Her smile tugs into a frown before she finally asks me.

"Why a rope?"

I smile earnestly, realising that she would never know or understand why. "Just because, Noelle, but it'll work. You'll get better and so will I. And then eventually, we'll kill."

* * *

**Ambrosia LaMarie, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

They say me and Otto are a team. They say that we need to unite and show them that Eleven aren't to be messed with even if we are complete opposites and the underdogs. Otto seems to make it his mission to ignore me, insult me, treat like I'm lower than him and then complain.

"She doesn't lift her own weight," Otto complains to Mako. "We're suppose to be allies like you keep telling us, and yet, I have to do everything. Ambrosia does nothing, and here I was thinking that women were suppose to do everything for a guy."

Ida scoffs in the background and it actually takes a lot to not be offended by what he just said about me, when I'm only two seats away from him.

Mako does his best to ignore him, but when Otto won't release his stare on him, he complies, staring at him dead-on.

"Maybe you should treat her with some more respect then, Otto. Just because you're the Mayor's son doesn't mean you can treat everyone lower than you."

Otto Drake has always been like this, not surprisingly. His sister, Olympia, was exactly the same age as me. We went to school together. She was kind, a genuine sweetheart. We were even kinda friends. Not always with each other or spending tons of time together, but we spoke in class sometimes and you couldn't help but wonder what life was like when you could afford food on the table and clothes on your back.

Even back then, Olympia would complain of Otto's sexist behaviour. He treated her like that, his mother like that, all of it. No-one told him off because the Drake family were known to giving their children free speech and being their own people. Something about Mayor Drake seeing the persecution of the others districts losing their voices, and he didn't want his children to grow up exactly the same. That has meant that Otto has become quite the mean boy.

"I shouldn't have to treat her like anything. She should pull her own weight and everything would be dandy."

"I do pull my own weight," I defend myself far too quietly, no-one even looking at me. I speak up a little louder, placing my hands on the couch either side of me. "I said, I do pull my weight."

Otto looks at me for a small, disgusted second, barely acknowledging my opinion. "Yeah, no you don't. Besides, seen and not heard, remember?"

Ida scoffs again. Mako just glares and shakes his head, choosing to look away.

And that is when things get a bit intense, when Otto points at Mako's dreadlocks.

"Why would you want hair like a girl?"

The room suddenly goes tense as Mako looks up from the paper in his lap, eyes narrowed into slits. Ida sits near me, watching intently, a small smile sitting on her lips. Otto continues his judgmental stare until Mako suddenly folds the paper down.

"It is my business on what I do with my hair, Otto," Mako's glare doesn't let up. "You should be more concerned with your survival. I told you that your attitude won't help you. Me and Ida have full control over sponsors and who to spend the money, and right now, Ambrosia's sponsors are just filling up and yours is looking rather scarce."

I get the threat straightaway. Threatening to rip him of all outside support. Otto doesn't let up, though, and slowly, he rises from his seat and leaves the room.

"He is such a lovely child." Ida smirks to Mako.

"Indeed," Mako returns it with a frown. "Sadly, I doubt we'll be in his presence for much longer."

* * *

**Margot Roybal, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

The biggest problem I've always had is authority. I just don't get it really. Someone has a lot of power and control, and yet, on most occasions, they either misuse it or simply act like complete morons and use it the wrong way. That's problem the main reason why I should never be allowed any authority. I'd mistreat it for my advantage and amusement.

Hacket sits just a few seats away from me, eyes staring out the large, ceiling to floor window that overlooks the Capitol skyline.

It's not hard to miss him in training, but I never know what he does. Every time I've looked, he's just standing there by a different station, watching and learning, probably. One moment he was at the fire-making station. The next, the swords and spears section. After that, the gauntlet. Each time, Hacket moves, but I've never witnessed him do anything. He could easily do it. Being eighteen, he's probably been down in our infamous mines at least once or twice. Could easily handle a spear or sword. Yet, maybe this is his tactic.

"Hey, Hacket," I call out to him, watching his hollow eyes stare back at me. "Having fun?"

He shrugs his large, broad shoulders. "I guess."

The smirk plays on my lips as I look at him, his head turning back and eyes staring outwards. I climb out of my seat and move forward, sitting down next to him. Hacket's eyes briefly glance at me before they return to the window. Under the moonlight, you can tell Hacket is rather good-looking. His square jaw, messy brown hair and fairly tanned skin gives him an older, appreciative look; no blemishes on his skin and no scars show that he cares for his appearance, too.

"Margot, you're staring."

"Sorry," I laugh it off, but never moving my eyes. "Just admiring the view, that's all."

Hacket doesn't suddenly look uncomfortable or worried from my words. Instead, it's like it rolls over his body and doesn't affect him whatsoever. That's good. It's better to not affect him than make him feel awkward around me. We're not allies, but I don't want him to feel out of place up here where he should be safe. I edge myself a little closer.

"I had an argument with Kieran, the girl from Ten," I say, just making conversation. "Nothing important, but it was about the impending launch and bloodbath."

His eyes snap to me. "And what's your decision, then?"

"Chip, boy from Three, says we should see what the arena is like first before deciding. What about you?"

"Might as well try it," Hacket shrugs those shoulders again. "What you got to lose besides your life?"

It somehow bubbles a laugh from inside me, and when I do laugh out loud, a ghost of a smile pops up on Hacket's lips. Something stirs inside me and I place my hand on his knee. He looks down at it and then back at me, but doesn't say anything. I move closer and closer, until our knees knock. I lean up, waiting for him to move away, but he doesn't. He's given me his silent permission, and so, I place my lips slightly against his. He moves his against mine as I stand up, linking my fingers in his and pulling him up, lips never parting. He pulls apart with the same, emotionless expression.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," I respond, though I'm still not sure what brought my feelings on. "As you said, what have you got to lose?"

I tug on his hand, pulling Hacket along to my bedroom where I push him inside, lock the door and seal the fate as his large, muscular body falls onto my plush bed. This shouldn't be allowed. This is probably against the rules. Then again, I've never liked rules and I've never followed them, so what damage could I be doing?

* * *

**Skinny Love by Birdy.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

******I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Out of the 12 tributes POV's presented, who stood out to you and why? (Again, more than one if you want. :p)_**

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**For people who don't know my pattern, there will be four pre-Games chapters to be completed. These twelve tributes are Slot One, their district partners are Slot Two, and they will rotate until all four chapters are completed and the tributes are then in the arena. The four chapters will cover the entire portion before the Games (interviews, training, private scores, launch).**

**I am going to keep a record on who reviews, who doesn't, and what chapters someone has reviewed to help me with the bloodbaths and early deaths and everything. No hard feelings, obviously.**


	6. I Wish I Was The Moon

**I Wish I Was The Moon.**_  
_

_Last night I dreamt I had forgotten my name,_ _'cause I had sold my soul but awoke just the same.__  
_

* * *

**Lamont Seifert, District One Male.**

* * *

I feel confident about this. More than confident, actually, but I'm not going to show it. Showing it would mean weakness once more, and like vultures, the rest of my pack would pick away at it until I'm nothing more than bones. Honor sits opposite me at the tables, waiting solemnly, hands pressed together and lent on the table. Next to her is Marlin, followed by Azolla, holding hands tightly. Ajax is next to me and Cyra, well, Cyra has decided to go on a walk to scare the other tributes.

That's her biggest problem. Cyra believes that psyching the rest of the tributes out will prove that we are domineering and all powerful, but it doesn't. It makes Cyra look like nothing more than a schoolyard bully, and them themselves are the weakest of the weak.

"District One, Lamont Seifert!" someone calls out.

I rise, slowly, letting the rest of my allies look at me slowly. When I stand, I can see Cyra propped up against a wall staring down at the pair from Seven with gruesome eyes. She flashes me a wink as I leave the room, escorted by the Peacekeeper. He takes me down a hall, stopping just outside a door.

"In here." he says bluntly, and enjoying the moment, I grab the handle and push.

When I step him, I'm bombarded by the usual, blinding lights that illuminate the entire training centre. The only difference this time is that there are people down here before me. Usually, I'm one of the first. Sometimes, we're only beaten by Ajax and Cyra, squabbling over the right to call themselves our leader.

The Head Gamemaker, Lilia Short, sits in the middle of the group, a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Her eyes never leave my walking form as I stop in front of her.

"Lamont Seifert from District One," I say shortly, before walking away once more.

The first station I go to is the swords. Swords was more for Honor, but I have trained with them, and to get my high score, I need to show that I'm adaptable to anything they throw at me. I grab the handle firmly before taking center stage and driving it through the heart of the white dummy. It slides out as I repeatedly drive it inwards, before, whipping it out and decapitating the dummy with little effort.

Next is the machete, and as I go towards it, Lilia Short's eyes are firmly locked onto mine as her hand scribbles fast.

She's taking notes. How sweet of her. To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised Lilia Short made the cut. When the President came into power three years ago, the trusted Head Gamemaker was gone. He had been there the entire time Esmeralda Snow's father was President. Never failed, apparently. Then, she came along and the man disappeared. Each year, a new Head Gamemaker arrived, and after that year, they were replaced. As far as I know, a woman has never been Head Gamemaker.

I could be wrong.

I grab the machete and go straight back to work on another dummy. After a while and as the shreds of fluff float to the ground, a trainer steps forward with an identical machete, and we tussle for a while until I gain the upper hand and proceed to drive him onto his knees in front of me. The sight would make anyone laugh, but I don't. Instead, I simply drop my hatchet on the floor and spin around to the audience in cue with my time ending. I bow, before walking to the elevator and pressing the button lightly.

I'm more than confident in my abilities. I'll never show it though. That's weak.

* * *

**Cyra Matrons, District Two Female.**

* * *

Ajax climbs from his seat hastily, ready for his turn. He turns to me and glares.

"Don't be a baby, Ajax, I'm sure they'll be happy with whatever you manage to do."

Ajax's lips twitch into smile. "Same goes for you, Cyra."

Something in his words strike me. He walks away with a confident, happy swish in his steps, before disappearing behind the wall with Peacekeepers in tow. Marlin and Azolla look across the table at me, though neither really smile. It takes a lot to not get up and walk away again. I only came back because that little monster Lamont had left. Then went Honor and now Ajax. I would say something remotely kind to Marlin or Azolla, but I don't like either of them. Marlin is way too happy and smiley, whereas Azolla is no doubt a blonde idiot.

Maybe Ajax should be blonde. It would suit him, actually, with the way he acts and talks. God, I hate him just as much as the rest of them. Honor is probably the only one to not annoy me as much, and that's only because she doesn't speak that much and keeps more to herself than anything. If she did, she would easily join the others.

No-one speaks.

Marlin whispers something into Azolla's ear, erupting a giggle from her throat that breaks through our silence.

"Something funny?" I deadpan at her.

Azolla shakes her head and looks down, but Marlin just smiles, knocking her shoulder to encourage her to ask. She doesn't, though, and I can't shake the feeling that the alliance we've created like everyone before us has already fallen spectacularly. Usually, they fall within the middle of the Games. Sometimes, not until the very last five. Maverick was sharing his thoughts on the subject last night, reviewing his Games almost thirty years ago, the 77th. The Careers alliance that year just collapsed straight after the bloodbath when Maverick, not surprisingly, slaughtered both the One tributes not long after the gong sounded. That pretty much showed the alliance wasn't strong, and he doesn't forget to mention how he managed to kill both the Four tributes early on, leaving his district partner, who killed herself, apparently.

That easy.

Except it's not. It's not when you know for a fact that you aren't as skilled as the others.

It's probably going to be my biggest downfall, I know that, but as long as they believe I'm a threat, it should be okay. It should scare them off enough to actually avoid me and just kill others. This, however, is where I might go wrong. Showing off skills to gain a high score. If I don't, well, my fate is sealed.

"District Two, Cyra Matrons!"

I rise from my seat, gaining a nod of supposed encouragement from Marlin. I feign a smile as I walk out, along the hall and then, through the doors to try my best to keep the masquerade in tact. The Gamemakers acknowledge me, but they're murmuring. Murmuring about Ajax, maybe?

I shake my head of the thoughts as I grab hold of my trusted scythe.

The first dummy pops up from the ground and I quickly slice it, through it does nothing but scratch the surface. I swing even harder, managing to tear through the fabric and into it, but it stops and takes a while to actually force the weapon back out. The murmurs begin again, now probably talking about my performance. I can't deny the amount of red warmth on my cheeks. It scratches and burns, but I continue, hacking away at the dummy until it's split into two.

I repeat that on the next few dummies, getting a little bit better each time, but never as great as what a Two Career should be. I don't hear the person tell me that my time is over. By now, anger and embarrassment has taken over, smothered me and blocked everything else out, and finally, a Peacekeeper hauls me away from the shredded dummy, dragging me away, scythe abandoned on the floor.

* * *

**Chip Pascal, District Three Male.**

* * *

It takes a while for the Two girl to finish, apparently, since it takes longer than the slotted three minutes for my name to be called. As a Peacekeeper in bleach white takes me along the hallway to the training room where we've been bonding and forming, I can't help but question the idea of three minutes.

Three minutes to sell ourselves and our skills in order to get a decent point. The higher the point, the more sponsors a tribute is likely to gain when in the arena. It'll be up to Bolt and Mercury to ensure that me and Danielle get things that we need to survive, but they won't have to work so hard if their tribute pulled a 10. Sponsors would just flood in almost as quick as water when it flows.

The door opens and I walk in, clearing my mind of all the thoughts.

Still. Three minutes to basically show them that I'm worth spending your money on? It doesn't seem that fair. Or logical, for that matter.

"Chip Pascal from District Three," I offer a brief smile before making my way over to the stations that could save me.

For the last two days, I've been learning about traps. When Margot and Kieran have been bickering and Nate's been distracted beyond belief, I've been creating, folding, bending and shaping traps that could save us all. They've spent their time wasting it, whilst I've tried putting it to use. Not saying that none of the three can do anything, because they can, but it's more logical to learn something that you know you can't already do.

Kieran said that she grew up fighting in her orphanage back in Ten. I grew up learning about technology and new things. It makes much more sense to learn something new, rather than practicing and showing off what you can do. I told Kieran that. I'm pretty sure she was tempted to give me the finger.

I wrap the first knot over the next, proceeding the pattern carefully.

Danielle done this, too, which is good, unless she knows about traps, then it's bad.

I attach the set of knots to a long piece of rope, holding them in the air happily, and from the corner of my eye, I can see the Gamemakers looking on with interest. I can't see any of the Careers actually trying traps and knots, so this must be a new thing for them indeed. After a while, the rope lined with knots is attached to another rope, forming a small, easy-to-use net. I demonstrate my efforts by throwing it over the nearest dummy. It's not that impressive, but it's showed them that I'm brains over brawn.

It's just the more logical option I believe.

* * *

**Azolla Midwell, District Four Female.**

* * *

The soft music in the elevator is enough to keep me happy and calm until I get back to Marlin. For some reason, I was more than scared of entering that room and showing the Gamemakers what I'm capable of. They class me as a Career, and it's true, I technically meet all the right requirements, but I don't see myself as one. Not a proper one, since I don't crave bloodshed or pain.

The doors slide open, and rather than seeing Creek or River, Marlin is waiting patiently.

"How'd it go?" he asks comfortingly.

"Fine," I smile back. "I mean, I think I did okay. Yeah, I guess I did. What about you?"

Marlin smirks as he takes my hand, leading me over to the couch. "Nailed it. It couldn't have gone any more perfectly than it did. I mean, they weren't bored, and I just, yeah, I went for it."

He pulls me down onto the couch next to him; I make a quick check to see if either of our mentors are around. Creek is no doubt hiding from River, whilst River is probably trolling through the apartment or getting food. Could even be taunting Creek as we speak, you just don't know. Marlin never lets go of my hand as he leans forward and places a chaste kiss to my cheek.

"You'll be fine. You'll get a great score."

"I know," I reply. "I'm not entirely worried about that. I'm not worried about anything, really."

"You just seem a little different and I don't like it," Marlin frowns. "Something is bugging you."

He doesn't realise that he's partially at fault for what is bugging me. Not him himself or anything he's done. Marlin is beyond sweet and caring, even though we've known each other for such a short time. But, this is a game we accepted, a game we decided to enter, and only one winner is allowed. He doesn't understand that the thing that is bugging me is that he's going to die. No matter what, Marlin will die, because I just can't afford to not win. I didn't come here to die or fall in love. I came here to bring justice to Coral.

"Nothing is bugging me," I lie. "Honestly, Marlin, I just want to sit here in silence and be with you."

Marlin's childish smile grows wide as he pulls me back against the couch and wraps his arms around me tenderly.

For some reason, this is the place where I want to be. I don't want to be in an arena, cold and wet, dry or hot, bleeding and dying and killing; not when I could easily just stay here with Marlin and bask in the glory of whatever this is between us. I hear a shout come from Creek's room, which breaks the happiness, but only for a little while.

But seconds later, River comes storming out, her face a mask of anger and hurt.

Marlin opens his mouth to ask something, but River jerks a finger in his direction and hisses. "Shut it, pretty boy, nothing to do with you. Get out of here right now."

Marlin grabs me by the hand and yanks me up from the couch, just as River throws herself into our warm spots, a soft sob crackling from her throat. He guides me out the room and down the hall, narrowly passing Creek's room, where you can hear the sound of a proud but quiet laugh erupt. We enter his room and Marlin closes the door. He spins around and smiles, making my whole chest just flutter in anticipation.

But rather than what I expected, instead, he pulls out a blanket with a small basket on top.

"Think of it as a celebratory picnic." he says short and sweet.

* * *

**Hayl Gartham, District Five Female.**

* * *

I wait patiently on the couch for the scores to be announced. As per usual, Nomen showed off a sense of importance when I arrived back on our floor. He must have done well, since all he talks about is how amazed and astounded they were. That their little brains couldn't have comprehended on what he was even doing. That they just write down a number if they're impressed or not. Zeke pointed out that it was more than that; Nomen proceeded to belittle him in the run of it too.

"Still worried about him?" I ask Zeke when he sits down on the couch near me.

He shakes his head in response. "More than you'd want to know. But how did you do?"

Slowly, I'm starting to learn that Zeke changes subjects rather quickly. He brings one thing up, and then, when the going gets tough, he switches out his cards for something new. It must have served him well, otherwise he wouldn't be standing here, helping me in not dying so soon.

"I did okay," I force a smile, which he sees right through. "I failed miserably. I done all the survival tactics I learned, but I doubt it impressed them much. Besides, after the Careers and then what Nomen calls a fantastic performance, I doubt I shone a lot."

"I got a 3 for my training score," Zeke reminds me. "And I still survived. It's a game, Hayl, you just have to play it your way."

"Like that will help me, though," my head tilts towards my lap, eyes cast downwards before Zeke tilts them back up with his fingers. "I mean, survival might not help me."

"Survival could be the best bet."

"How so?"

Zeke smirks. "C'mon, Hayl, you should know why. The arena could be anything. You might need survival skills more than handling a knife or sword."

I know he's right, but that doesn't fight away the sinking feeling that constantly makes my stomach drop further and further. Nomen waltz out the room confidently, an apple clutched in his hands.

"Thought I'd check on Cordelia and fill her in and how great I did," Nomen smirks as he takes his seat. "Yep, turns out, I came at the wrong time."

I can see Zeke from the corner of my eye stiffen once more, but Nomen notices and smiles a little sadistically. Who would have thought Nomen was capable of looking and acting so evil? He moves a little closer, mock whispering to us.

"Cordelia tried to kill herself this morning apparently. A Peacekeeper rejected me almost instantly."

Zeke sighs from next to me, but the crackle of the television perched on the wall is enough to draw all of our attention. Nomen lounges back on his seat, ready to no doubt accepting the large number that is almost destined for him. I still don't understand why he seems so confident. All I've ever seen him do is tie electrical cords together without a electrical source running through them. So, really, they are just normal, coloured wires. I wouldn't question it though. I don't see it, but Nomen knows what he is doing.

Shame the same can't be said about me.

My eyes focus on the screen as the blackness turns to a sparkle of colour as Hermes Abbatone, adorned in a golden hue of curls, pops up on the screen with his dazzling white smile. Our fates are either sealed or left open after this. Whether you're a dead tribute off the mark or an actual contender. Everything lies in these numbers.

* * *

**Milo Trivil, District Six Male.**

* * *

My heart hammers against my chest as Hermes Abbatone begins the scores. Noelle's tiny body presses up against mine, our hands entwined between us. Lorcan and Wisp sit on the far side of the couch, mumbling to themselves and offering comforting smiles at us when our eyes meet.

The first picture that appears is the District One boy, his picture emotionless. Hermes states his name, like he'll do with everyone else, followed by the name of the fallen tribute we're related too; a switch this year due to the Quell. Then, their number. A bright red 11 pops up underneath his picture in time with Hermes' words. The mere thought of him towering over my body is enough for me to grip Noelle too hard, gaining a squeak from the small girl.

His district partner follows with her flowing brunette locks and matching blood 9.

"Didn't think an idiot girl from One would have that in her. Usually, they're the dumbest." Lorcan laughs.

Wisp nods solemnly in agreement as the boy from Two jumps up on the screen gaining an exact duplicate, an 11, like the boy from One. His district partner, however, falls short, only hitting an 8. It's still massively impressive, but for someone trained, it could be her luck running out sooner rather than later.

The boy from Three only manages a 5.

It seems to take a while before Danielle's bright blonde hair and piercing hazel eyes are staring down at me. Underneath happens to be a 4.

It doesn't set the bar very high, but that doesn't matter. I doubt neither me, Evy or Aspen will get high score.

The pair from Four pull average Career scores; the boy with his 10 and the girl with her 8.

"They've been so good so far," Noelle mumbles, leaning into me so that I could hear her better. "Mine will be terrible."

"Don't count yourself out."

The thing is, though, I don't want fate to play out like before. I really don't. When Titus was reaped, his training score was only a 5 despite age and strength being on his side. His small district partner pulled a 4. Almost the same number but it was close enough for people to not count either of them. She probably trusted him; her biggest downfall. I hope Noelle doesn't trust me. I care for the girl. I mean, who would be so cruel to hate on a little girl? But if she trusts me, I'll be scared. Scared I'll end up down the same path as my uncle.

The boy from Five pulls a surprising 6, despite his obvious stereotype being his biggest problem.

His district partner, Hayl I've learned, only pulls a 4, like Danielle, and when you compare the two, they couldn't be anymore different except in personality. I spoke to Hayl once when I was trying out some fire tricks on one of the stations. The speed of my heart rate quickens. I can hear each rhythmic pulse in my eyes, pounding, pounding, pounding.

My picture pops up on the screen.

My name gets called. Milo Trivil, nephew of Titus Trivil.

Then, the number 5 repeatedly flashes underneath.

No. No. It can't be happening.

Noelle's name comes up, accompanied by her relation; niece of Analyss Alcott. Then, ironically, her number; 4.

* * *

**Aspen Berkley, District Seven Male.**

* * *

Danielle only pulls a 4 and Milo manages a 5. So far, our alliance isn't looking so top. Now, the pressure is more on me and Evy to deliver. Someone needs to bring sponsors in. Hopefully, Milo's relation to his monster uncle might attract enough attention. No-one could forgot those Games.

Anticipation builds as I wait for my picture to finally appear.

"Aspen Berkley, son of Amber Berkley."

My mother died almost fifteen years ago. I wasn't even a year old; she had me young. Not terribly young, she was eighteen when she was reaped, pregnant at seventeen. I wish I had known her. My house was littered with pictures of her; father always said my hair colour and eyes came from her. Sometimes, I wish I could die. Not because I'm morbid or anything, but simply so I can be reunited with her again. No-one knows what it's like to lose a parent through something and then possibly lose your own life in the exact same way. I've tried coping with it well. I never let anyone see me get upset, because I don't want to be swallowed whole by sadness.

I keep all my crying to nights, tears absorbed into my pillow.

I stare at the picture as hard as I can until my number, a 6, finally springs onto screen. It's average for non-Careers and it's better than both Milo and Danielle's, so it will have to do. I'm happy about it, I guess, but it could have been higher. I could have done better. But, alas, it'll be fine enough.

Evy's picture comes up, her fallen relative being her twin brother.

And, like me, she pulls a 6.

"Well done," Willow congratulates the pair of us quietly. "Done good."

"We done better." Maple doesn't forget to add.

"That's not the point though, is it?"

"I'm just saying."

"Be quiet."

The boy from Eight only manages an average 5, whereas his district partner, the scary but pretty girl, manages a 7, no doubt from all that physical fighting she showed. Average enough to keep them on the board, especially considering the lower districts never fare too great.

The boy from Nine, however, gains one of the highest scores I've seen so far from an outside district; a 9.

"That's what I'm talking about," Maple smirks triumphantly at Willow. "That's a tribute!"

The mute girl only manages a 2, sadly, and you can't help but let your heart go out to her. After that, it's hard to make yourself stand out against someone with such a high number that beat two Careers. Kinda overshadowed. The boy from Ten gains a 5 whilst the female nabs a 7, too. Eleven do by far the worse. The little boy only managing a 2 and the girl only getting a 3. Neither done that great, and now, they've been written out the competition. The boy from Twelve, however, manages to steal some limelight from Nine with his 8. Lastly, the fiery redhead from Twelve gets a 6, much like me and Evy.

"How wonderful," Maple drawls. "Looks like our little two munchkins happen to suck in more ways than one."

"Maple..."

"Just an observation." Maple defends herself, getting up for some food. When she's away, Willow still silently congratulates us, but Maple's right. Here I was thinking we might be able to do something, and now, we've been outshone by a lot of different tributes with different potential. Looks like we're kinda overshadowed.

* * *

**Twill Mousseline, District Eight Female.**

* * *

I sip the water before placing it on the bedside table, climbing underneath the plush covers to sleep. My score was good, great even, and no-one was able to match me except the girl from Ten. The only two to gain a 7, whilst the only outsiders beating us are the boys from Nine and Twelve. Apart from that, she's my main competition. Her, the Careers and the two boys. They'll fall in time from being in alliances, whilst with me being on my own, I'll have an advantage.

I flick the switch on the remote, blocking out the Capitol skyline from my view and replacing it with buildings. Buildings from Eight.

A part of me longs to go back there, despite all the bad memories that lie within the streets and familiar blocks. It would bring a sense of comfort and security to a place that lacks it. Nate seems fine; I'm almost positive that the boy can adapt his personality and emotions to fit any situation or place. It'll come in handy for the arena.

A soft knock at my door interrupts me and I shoot up, nerves twinged.

It opens slowly to reveal Nate standing there, smiling lightly in the fake light created by the Eight skyline before me.

"What do you want?" I ask, realising it probably sounds much harsher than intended.

"Nothing really, I just wanted to see how you are," Nate chuckles a little. "Is it okay if I come in?"

"I suppose so."

He steps in rather cautiously, bare feet squeaking against the floorboards underneath us. He stops when he gets close enough, staring at me intently. Then, out of nowhere, he raises the hidden hand from behind his back, revealing a small, round cupcake perched on his palm. My eyes gaze down at it and then back up to him, his smile never fading or dropping an inch. It stays there, almost plastic-like, never being able to fail.

"I thought it'd be like a cool little gift to say well done for your score. Velvet and Chiffon just congratuled you, I thought I'd take the extra mile."

It's a sweet gesture that slips a smile onto my face. I pat the space in front of my bed, watching Nate skip over with a beat in his step, plopping down on the comforter. He hands me the cupcake gently, watching me take the first bite.

"Did you make it?"

"Nope," Nate laughs again. "I got Velvet to order a batch and then I stole one for you. I just thought you could do with a little present."

I don't understand, though, and as I take another bite, the thought catches up to me. "Why?"

My question is met with silence before Nate hits his hands on the bed playfully, laughing once more. "I guess I don't like the fact you're on your own, that's all. I mean, I could always talk to the others, get you in with u-"

"It's fine, Nate," I assure him. "I want to be on my own."

"Yeah, but I-"

"Nate." I say evenly, watching his smile drop to a frown as he gets up. "Where are you going?"

"You want to be on your own, I get it," Nate says, sounding slightly sad underneath the words. "Just know that I care, okay? Don't think I don't. Most district partners don't even talk. I didn't want us to be like that whatsoever. It doesn't even matter that one or both of us will die; I just didn't want a relationship like everyone else."

I nod, but I don't know what to say. Being on my own would just be a lot easier and simpler Nate gets the point and smiles sadly, closing the door as he slips out comfortably. Suddenly, I don't feel so hungry. I place the cupcake next to my glass of water, slip down into the covers and curl up. I don't even understand why I'm crying.

* * *

**Poppy Spool, District Nine Female.**

* * *

"Poppy, it's time to get up." my mentor, Bailey, calls out.

I shuffle myself out of sleep, peering at the ceiling to floor window that takes up one side of the room. The sunlight looks bright and warming, something I haven't really seen of the Capitol yet. I climb out of bed and get dressed fast, knowing what is about to happen. Later tonight, the interviews will commence. No-one has any idea how I'll be able to do mine since I can't speak and Caesar definitely doesn't know sign language. It's a disaster waiting to happen.

When I open the door, I'm greeted by both Bailey and Buck. No Dagan.

"Dagan has already gone down with the escort," Buck says evenly. "We're here to discuss the strategy and more importantly, how we're going to get you to communicate."

Buck gestures for me to sit down opposite him and Bailey, and I do, accepting the piece of bread and marmalade Bailey slides across the table. I eat it slowly as Buck shifts some papers in front of me. At first, it looks like a bundle of plain, ordinary paper, but underneath lies a board.

"That's a special board, Poppy," Bailey smiles. "With it, you'll be able to write down your answers to Hermes' questions."

I point to the paper, picking one up in particular to show my point. Bailey and Buck share a confused look before finally realising.

"Oh, the paper. It has your strategy on it," Buck spins a piece around and shows me. "We thought, since you don't have any allies, you could map out your plan beforehand to know. It's always dangerous to attempt the Cornucopia, but it isn't a Cornucopia without temptation. All you'll need will be in there."

"So, you might have to grab some things to be able to last," Bailey continues. "However, simple and easy stuff is nearby, so you can grab them and run. From what Dagan said, you have no resident knife thrower this year or anyone attempting archery, so it means an easy shot at running away."

"We suggest you take that option." Buck finishes off.

The both of them are trying to occupy my disabilities with help. Since I have no allies and no way of communication, the only method left is to avoid all danger and continue to run. Somehow, that unsettles something inside of me. I don't want to run or hide or fight. I don't have much chance, so why bother trying at all? They're putting their efforts on me when they could be spending double the time to prepare Dagan, who, by the looks of last night, is a major competitor against the Careers. Bailey hands me the pen so delicately, I can see she thinks I'll break. I'm so close to breaking, by now, I should be made of porcelain.

I scribble down a few things, and each time, Bailey and Buck decipher the pitfalls and positives of each idea.

But nothing deters the feeling of hopelessness that sits deep in my stomach, never budging, never leaving, always there. I write down one more and Bailey begins to tell me the main problem it, and feeling lost, I grab the pen and a fresh piece of paper, scribbling down the words that have stuck by me my entire life, and now, have grown since being here.

_I'M HOPELESS. LET ME DIE._

I show them, watching their eyes begin to swim with sadness over my case. I throw the piece of paper at them, standing up and storming out the room, allowing my silent tears to roll my cheeks and finally allowing myself to let in the truth; I can't win.

* * *

**Kieran DeLuca, District Ten Female.**

* * *

"You weren't born in a barn. Close that door." my escort, who goes by the name of Sasha, says as I enter.

I smile a sarcastic smile as I slam the door shut behind me, making sure the door causes the room to vibrate with sound. Sasha quickly slams her hands over her ears, clearly not impressed. Sawyer went first when it came to dealing with Sasha and proper etiquette. Apparently, now, I'm the obvious let down after the magnificence that is Sawyer's skitty behavior. Sasha's grim face is enough to please me, though, and I take my seat opposite her.

"Now, we are going to discuss what you'll be doing for the interview. Usually, it's a mentor's job. Yours is Lylac, correct?"

"Indeed." I drawl.

Sasha glares for a moment, eyes slightly hidden by the dropped magenta hair that sits on top of her eyebrows. "Well, because of the Quell this year, things have been switched up, as you know, since you didn't get to see me at the reaping. I'm here to discuss your angle."

"I don't really have one," I keep my voice and eyes even with hers. "I intend to go out there and do whatever I can to not gain attention."

"And why is that?"

"It's probably better than way," I continue. "I mean, if you think about, points and a good interview would mean that the Careers might hunt you down almost instantly. I can't be dealing with that when my allies are slightly dysfunctional."

"Ah, yes, Lylac informed me that your allies are the boys from Three and Eight and the girl from Twelve. Dear. You couldn't have found better allies?"

Something bugs me by that. I don't know what it is, but the ribbon of anger in me rises. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"Three and Twelve aren't exactly well known for producing great tributes or Victors, for that matter," Sasha smiles falsely. "Then again, it means you outshine your alliance, and that's all that matters."

"Not necessarily, no, but I can't be bothered to argue with you over it, so continue, oh great one."

Sasha's glare reappears as she sorts out some paperwork and books on the table placed to her right. I don't want what it is, but she skims through them, plucking out a piece of paper with a drawing on it. She carefully examines it and then looks at me sharply, switching between us, before pulling up another piece of paper with a drawing on it, too. Then, she smiles, folding one in particular down on her lap and staring at me dead on.

"Your stylist has already designed the outfit this year," Sasha hands me the paper with the drawing, which now clearly shows a dress that's tight around the edges but keeps a flow; an olive green colour. "The colour is to match your complexion whilst the dress is simply to alter your angle. It's to enhance your age and appeal whilst keeping things mysterious and covered. My guess is, if you plan on not gaining attention, that we take on the elusive angle I had set up."

"You had set up?"

Sasha smiles. "When we were told beforehand our tasks this year, I was sad, I mean, the reapings are usually my favourite part. But, when I was told that it'd be up to me to help enhance the tributes from Ten within their interview, I was ecstatic, and so, I managed to persuade the stylists to design a few outfits for the pair, so we could decide on the right one to match the angle. So, I started to plan for you both the minute I saw your reapings and then adjusted it when I knew your scores. I shall not bore you with details, but know, I have everything under control."

"Marvelous." I roll my eyes, realising that other people have a better understanding as to who I really am.

* * *

**Otto Drake, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

"So, we agree to tone down the sexist comments, correct?"

Thankfully, the Eleven escort happened to be a man this year. Falco is a nice man with light pink skin and a crop of silver hair. Compared to Mako, Falco decides to actually let the world know that he's a man, rather than having dreadlocks and looking like a pathetic man. Even better, Falco seems much like me.

"I know, I guess I could since the interviewer is a man."

"That's a good boy," Falco smiles a toothy grin. "I completely understand your predicament. Woman are a bane on the world, only really here for child bearing and ensuring that we are satisfied. But, it might not bring you many favors considering most Capitol audience that spend money on sponsors are indeed woman."

"Spending the money that their husbands have made, don't you mean." I counter.

"Exactly that," Falco's smile doesn't evaporate. "Remember that, Otto, it's only in your best interest."

"Thank you Falco." I say, climbing up and moving to the door, but when I do, Falco makes a coughing noise. "Yes?"

"Beat Ambrosia."

Falco makes it loud and clear and I leave the room, making sure to keep that promise to him. It's bad enough that the girl even managed a point higher than me in the private training, let alone if she outlived me. It's not acceptable. It's not acceptable that a woman should be higher than a man. No. I won't have it. I storm back through the room, seeing Ambrosia sitting on the couch quietly murmuring to both Mako and Ida, much like I will have to next.

"You won't beat me," I say calmly, despite the anger that burns inside. "I will watch you die, Ambrosia, because a woman should never be better than a man!"

Mako stands up in Ambrosia's defense. "Otto, what do you think you're doi-"

"I won't let her live," I say definitely. "No matter what, you won't live. You won't show me up. I am better than you!"

I storm away again, leaving a stunned Mako, a flabbergasted Ida and a tearful Ambrosia. I don't care anymore. What people think of me or anything. A woman should never be better than a man and Ambrosia should never be better than me. I should be calling the shots. I should be telling her what to do and what to say. She might be part of this alliance, but she should be seen and not heard. She should follow orders.

And if she doesn't, which is most likely, I will drag a knife across her throat if its the last thing I do.

I slam the bedroom door shut, hearing Mako complain about my behaviour to Ida and Ambrosia. After awhile, he comes knocking, demanding me out of the room. Falco appears not long after doing the same. Ida and Ambrosia would try, but women can't be expected to do anything anymore since they never do it right. I will kill her. She will die. So help me God, I will never, ever let a woman get the best of me.

Stupid female species.

* * *

**Hacket Bruckwill, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

I'm not going to say that last night was a mistake; it really wasn't. Margot and me clearly had the same interests concerning each other, and well, it cultivated Thing is, besides sexual attraction, I have no feelings for her whatsoever. Relationships have never really been for me. Checking out girls has never really been for me. If it happens, it happens, if it doesn't, it doesn't. Simple as counting.

Our interviews are tonight, and for some reason, I'm not looking forward to it. Material objects have never peaked my interest whatsoever, and the Capitol audience, well, we're just objects to them. They bet on us, we fight, twenty-three die and one walks away with riches, and then, the rest of their life, they're loved for taking away lives and constantly showered with adoration. It's not a life I want; but I don't want to die either.

I sit on the bed more properly.

Margot is currently with our escort, Tallulah. My conversation with Peeta didn't exactly pan out very well, considering he mentioned that his interview technique is always a great one to gain sponsors and attention to yourself. It also happens to be the exact opposite of my personality.

I hear footsteps outside the room, and slowly, the door handle twists and shunts open.

Margot stands there, a smile peering on her face. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

"I thought I'd wait for you," I offer a half-smile back.

"That was very kind of you. Can I ask why?" Margot smirks, dropping a strap of her dress over her shoulder.

She knows why. Of course she does. The way her eyes sparkle and swim in lust when she looks at me is the most obvious answer. She walks across the room lightly, swishing her hips as she gets closer, before her hands find my chest and she shoves me back on her bed.

"You know why."

"Which reminds me," Margot looks at me deeply. "You do know that I don't want anything out of this, right?"

I keep quiet for a moment and that stirs her to keep speaking.

"I'm only doing this because you're attractive and I'm needy comma rebellious," Margot places a chaste kiss to my jawline. "I'm not really relationship material."

And like before, like I knew, we both are in this for the same reason. Margot is doing it for rebellion. I'm doing it to relieve pressure without commitment. It's almost the perfect friendship, both getting what we want without any strings attached and feelings involved. Her kisses trace up and down my jawline, puckering against my neck every so often. I flip her on the bed, pressing my weight against her chest. The other strap to her dress falls off at some point, her dress falling to the floor. Peeta is too absorbed in himself and his problems. Tallulah won't be coming back now she's done her jobs.

It's just me and Margot for now.

And as my top falls to the floor alongside Margot's dress, I know one thing is for certain.

We're both getting what we want from this. This isn't wrong. It isn't. I know that.

* * *

**I Wish I Was The Moon by Neko Case.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

******I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Now that all 12 tributes have been presented and you've seen the scores, who do you want to survive the bloodbath for definite?_**

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**One more chapter to actually go. Then, we're in the arena that nobody knows about and is super awesome and twisted. ;)**


	7. All Fall Down

**All Fall Down.**

_Love till you hate, s__trong till you break, k__now that we all fall down._

* * *

**Honor Elliot, District One Female.**

* * *

I wait patiently in the cue forming on the side of the stage. Behind me is Lamont and then Cyra, Ajax, Three and then Azolla and Marlin. When I turn to look at them, Azolla offers a kind smile and Marlin nods in encouragement. Out of all the allies in the Career alliance, both of them are the kindest. Ajax isn't pure evil, but he's arrogant and can be annoying. Cyra and Lamont, well, lets just say that the monsters under a child's bed do exist.

I still don't trust any of them though, and I never will.

Hermes Abbatone walks out onto the stage, hands in the air and waving ferociously.

As far as I know, Hermes became the interviewer for the Games a few years ago, about ten or so. He's still rather young, having cornered the job when he was only in his early-twenties. The previous interviewer was fired only two years into his job, and before that, it was Caesar Flickerman, who died tragically of old age. Hermes is good at his job, but he's not that helpful; Hermes has a tendency to point out flaws and build on them rather than showing the tribute off.

Three years ago, when Vanity took to the stage, he made sure to remind everyone that she was arrogant and cocky. She still shined but he definitely put a damper on things for her.

"Welcome Panem!" Hermes shouts.

I try to tune him out and focus on my angle; mask of mystery. That was what my escort, Penelope, suggested. She didn't understand how right she was. I've always lived under the mystery. All my life, I've been forced to train as a Career. I don't like it at all. The fighting, bloodshed and pain isn't my style. If I had to kill, it'd be subtle and quick, not drawing it out. But, I was forced. My parents wanted a Victor and either me or Vanity was going to provide that.

"Our first tribute for the night, the wonderful, Honor Elliot!"

A man ushers me onto the stage, my legs barely moving underneath the golden bridal gown I've been thrown into. Lights and screams fill my body, making everything seem so dream-like, it's hard to keep moving and standing. Somewhere through the blindness, Hermes clamps his hand around my wrist and tugs me into the seat.

Everything comes down and I can finally see him, his golden curls shaped into a ball this year.

"Honor, hello," Hermes smiles his predatory smile. "This year, as a treat, it's been requested by the lovely President herself that we show a special, short video for each tribute!"

His hand directs to the large screen behind us. I crane my neck to see as the black bumps up in life, the crowd getting jittery with anticipation. My heart goes still when I watch Vanity, slowly being surrounded by the remaining Careers in the burned out forest, being forced to the ground. Her screams are muffled and no sound comes out. Everything is silent as each Career takes to hurting and killing her, until finally, the female from Two drags her knife slowly down Vanity's body; from neck to bellybutton, splitting her open as blood pools around my forgotten sister. The crowd stays silent as it goes black again.

"Yes, because of the Quell my dear audience, we'll get to relieve each and every death of the fallen tributes!" Hermes chants, and for some reason, the crowd joins in.

I sit there, breathless, eyes glazed over and connected to Hermes' smile. He stops and claps his hand together.

"Your 9 happened to be very impressive, Honor, and if I'm correct, didn't your sister pull the same score?"

It takes a while for words to slip past the lump in my throat. "Yes."

"What a coincidence," Hermes winks. "Looks like the Elliot sisters were more alike than we see right here."

I just nod. He could mean that our personalities are different; I'm quiet and more reserved compared to Vanity's loud and obnoxious ways. It could also mean looks; my hair is dark whilst Vanity's was a golden blonde, inherited by our father. We were different. And, because she died, it means I'm going to win.

* * *

**Ajax Rogue, District Two Male.**

* * *

Cyra sits on the stage calmly and doesn't even look that fazed when her video, the death of her uncle, comes and goes. Hermes jumps straight into questioning her about it, and each time, Cyra flips her hair and smiles kindly, saying that she never really knew him all that well and isn't surprised.

I'm not really looking forward to my video. Me and my brother, Axel, were extremely close before he volunteered for the same Games that Honor's sister entered. We did almost everything together. I don't want to see him die again; it was bad enough the first time. The only part I can be happy about is that Axel wasn't a part of the slaughter of Honor's sister, but, to counter that, Axel was the first Career out of them all to fall.

My eyes glance back to Hermes and Cyra.

"Your score wasn't on par with your uncles, though," Hermes smirks. "He managed to pull a 10. How come your score was lower?"

Cyra's body doesn't stiffen. The fact that her and Azolla, whom I'm not surprised about, are the weakest of us all, it should affect her. Azolla might have an excuse; as far as I know, Four doesn't have Academies like One or the infamous Training Centre like Two. Cyra's been trained all her life from when she could walk, and yet, her score doesn't reflect that.

"It's my plan, Hermes, but don't tell anyone." Cyra mock whispers, gaining a roar of laughter from the crowd.

Hermes congratulates her once the buzzer rings out, and slowly, Cyra slinks from the stage and down the steps, her legs on show from the short, peach coloured dress. She smirks as she passes me. Hermes' shouts my name out next, and calmly, I walk to the stage and my seat with strength oozing. He shakes my hand when I take the seat, but I try to resist it as much as possible. I'm trying to prepare myself for the video.

"And, your video."

It comes on to the burning picture of trees everywhere, red flames scorching away their leaves and burning their bark. If I remember, the fire burned everything in the arena and then stopped when the final ten were clear. His body is curled up in the middle of a small clearing, the black jacket they were given wrapped up over his head to protect himself from the falling, flamed branches and leaves.

It's a slow and painful death, but they've jumped in the middle of it. His body begins to convulse and he pukes an acidic green colour, just as the screen goes black once more.

"So, as you're aware, your brother Axel happened to die without being attacked," Hermes starts with the most obvious statement. "How did you feel when you watched him lying there, abandoned by his allies, either going to burn to death or from the obvious starvation or dehydration?"

All food and water sources are either poisoned by the smog or burned by the flames. It was a quick week, secured by the girl from Seven, Maple. After Axel died and then Honor's sister was killed, the Careers just fell apart and died one after the other.

"I was sad, of course I was," I say evenly, hoping to hide the emotions concerning Axel's death. "I just wished the Gamemakers had given him more of a fair shot."

It's a tricky thing to say, criticising the Gamemakers that design everything. But it wasn't fair. The bloodbath was small, the fire started, and tributes dropped one after the other. Five days it took to find the girl from Seven as the Victor.

"Sounds like you want revenge, Ajax," Hermes grins a toothy grin. "Does that mean we will most definitely see you storming through the arena and killing with a fire in your heart?"

I just slowly nod my head. "Yes. Yes indeed."

* * *

**Danielle Rune, District Three Female.**

* * *

Chip doesn't speak much to Hermes about his strategy or his score, opting to simply show his subtle superiority concerning his mind and opinions. Hermes doesn't look bothered, and worse of all, when they show Chip's aunt getting murdered quite brutally during the bloodbath, stabbed over and over again by the District One female.

"Everybody, Chip Pascal." Hermes drawls, lifting his hand in the air.

Chip smiles faintly to the crowd before walking off, his suit sparkling and shining under the impression that he's made of a million lightbulbs. He stops just near me and leans closer, whispering.

"It doesn't make sense... But don't fall into Hermes' words."

Then, he moves away, gaining a celebratory pat on the back from the boy from Eight. I get what he means. Hermes is quite ruthless when it comes to presenting the tributes; before, he was kind, now, he's just plain cruel, using your history against you to get the real truth behind it all. I get patiently until my name is called, but when I step on stage, my heel catches on the step and I stumble outwards.

The crowd lift into an uproar of laughter, mixed with a few cute 'aww', and I can't fight the bright red shame that paints my cheeks.

Hermes grabs me quickly, forcing me down into the chair.

"Danielle Rune, my oh my, don't you look even tinier in person!" Hermes cheers gleefully, moving an arm up and down my side. "You look positively thin! I am jealous of you."

Truth is, I've always been underweight. Not because of a disease or that, just my family are unable to afford food on the table every single night. It's no big deal. I go a few days without food and then I get some. My father owns a butcher shop in the middle of Three, but he doesn't always get great business which means we don't earn a lot of money. But weight is never something you should mention about to a girl.

"I guess so."

Hermes calms the audience down at their other uproar. "Now now, lets give the girl a chance. Danielle. Of course, your video is first."

I let my eyes face the screen, but really, they're focused on the top of it so I don't have to watch my cousin, Jackson, dying once more. It was bad enough the first time, I don't think I could go through with it again. Luckily, there isn't any sound, and so, I don't watch Jackson failing to keep watch whilst the Careers slowly hunt his alliance down. The fight is cut short for time, and the last image I see is the arrow shot from the male from One heading towards his fallen body on the floor.

It cuts black and Hermes smirks at me. "I take it that you and your cousin, Jackson, were awfully close?"

"I guess," I lie, knowing that whilst me and Jackson were never close, we were still family. "He was my family after all."

"Ah yes, and look how that's turned out for you," Hermes laughs darkly under his breath. "I'm just kidding. Of course, family is everything nowadays. I'm sure you could do a lot better than he did. With your size, you could just crawl into a hole and then stay there until they're all dead. What do we think about that, folks?"

The crowd roars again.

My eyes gaze back into the line, noticing Chip, who only nods in certification. He was right. He's always right. It doesn't surprise me anymore. And, with a final laugh, the buzzer rings and I stand deflated.

* * *

**Marlin Roth, District Four Male.**

* * *

I come off the stage a little more shaken than I thought I would be, but Azolla is quick to wrap me in a hug, and it's enough to settle the vibrating body parts. After watching each tribute, including Azolla, react to watching their relative die over again, I knew it would hit me hard. Even those like Honor and Ajax - both of whom you would assume are void of emotion - looked more shocked and unprepared to watch it again, knowing millions are watching their every movement.

As I watched my father die, murdered by the girl from Seven, I couldn't help but hear my mother crying once more.

She lost her husband to the Games, and now, her son was going in without a chance of returning.

"That was cruel," Azolla mumbles as the girl from Five begins her assent onto the stage. "Making us watch that over again? It's horrible."

"It's the Hunger Games."

The girl from Five doesn't do too bad with handling Hermes' nasty and cynical behaviour. He basically trashes her in front of everyone, and she still manages to keep up a shroud of innocence and purity. Even after her video is played, where her cousin also died, she still manages to hold it together long enough. Azolla watches with wide eyes as Five comes back down the steps, and when she's out of sight from the cheers and laugher, the mask falls and tears slip from her eyes.

"No-one is safe." Azolla mumbles again as Five weeps in the corner.

The boy sweeps up onto the stage next.

"Azolla," I say without really processing the thought. "Do you think this'll happen to us?"

"What do you mean?"

"When we die. Do you think they'll show our death over and over again?"

Azolla processes her thoughts clearly before shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. "Maybe. I don't know. It wouldn't really matter though, would it?"

"I guess not."

But the idea bugs me. Our relatives have died, and sure, us Careers opted to be here and face the troubles and fighting ahead, knowing what pain and loss is like. But is it right to showcase their deaths to the audience over again? Some of the fallen tributes died decades ago, and yet, their death is still idolised. I wouldn't want my death, if I do die, to be broadcast repeatedly. I jump back in just to listen to the boy from Five laugh a contained laugh that gains a reaction. It wasn't at his video; that has come and gone already.

"And, I guess, some are made of steel." Azolla says again.

I pause and watch the boy clap and cheer, Hermes leading him like a conductor. "Either that or just heartless and brainless."

* * *

**Nomen Clature, District Five Male.**

* * *

"Did you do good?" Cordelia asks from her bed, each hand tightened by a metal cuff attached to the bedpost.

My eyes linger on the fine red lines that scare Cordelia's wrist, slightly tucked underneath the metal. The Peacekeepers either side of us watch carefully, eyeing my movement as I close the door quietly behind us.

"I did great, actually. They lapped everything up like the little dogs that they are," I smirk, stepping a bit closer. "And, best of all, Hayl didn't do that great. I mean, she didn't cry, but the crowd didn't love her like they loved me."

"That's brilliant, Nomen."

I jerk my head into the direction of one of the Peacekeepers. "Are you allowed to come out of the cuffs at all?"

Cordelia laughs a little, her voice obviously croaky. "Still worried I'll kill myself."

They don't understand her pain, clearly. Cordelia wants to die and they want to stop her? It shouldn't be like that. They already warped her life from reaping her, let alone stopping her death. Compared to everyone else, Zeke and Hayl mainly, I care slightly for Cordelia. She shows what real courage and sacrifice is like. She should be the role model of what the Capitol does to their winners. Maybe that'll change their minds if everyone got to see the torment in Cordelia's eyes.

"Are you still going through with your plan?"

I smirk. "Yes."

"Good. Show them not to count you out."

"Oh trust me, I won't," I bow, slowly sliding myself out. "Bye Cordelia. I'll see you after I win."

The door closes quietly and I quickly walk to the main room. Zeke and Hayl sit on the couch, mumbling between them. When they notice me, though, Zeke's eyes instantly connect with mine. He knows. Oh yes, Zeke knows my plan. He knows what I'm capable of. A few years back, the year after Zeke won and Pilus was reaped, Zeke made a point of coming to my house to apologise for not bringing my brother home and allowing the girl from Three, Mercury, to win. When he came into my room, my mother telling him that I was upset, he didn't expect to see what he saw.

It's something I made very clear to him that would happen when I turned eighteen and volunteered.

But, I'm here a year early, and I can always see the fear in Zeke's eyes.

Worse of all? Hayl's cousin, her dead relative, was the district partner to Zeke in the year he won. Yet, she's so close to him knowing that he beat her cousin. It's something I could never do. Thankfully, I won't have to worry about that whatsoever.

Hayl's eyes follow straight after.

"Yeah, lets just say that I'm going to win," I say, counting their stares. "Zeke knows that, don't you Zeke?"

* * *

**Noelle Alcott, District Six Female.**

* * *

Lorcan speaks to Milo quietly on the side as Wisp bends down, his breath ghosting over my face.

"I want you to know that no matter what happens, you're a star, Noelle."

It's like he already knows I'm a goner. Like he has no faith. Wisp is a kind man, but he's narrow-minded on some fronts. He only thinks that age, ability and high scores make a good Victor. He doesn't believe that underdogs can do it. Wisp doesn't mean it nastily or because he's arrogant; just simply the way he's been brought up. Lorcan and Milo clear up their talk and Milo slides into his bedroom, closing the door.

"Goodnight Noelle. I'll see you tomorrow."

I bid him goodnight and slide into my own bedroom. I wait patiently for Wisp to disappear down the hall before launching my bedroom door open and opening Milo's, slipping into the room. Lorcan and Wisp will never know. Milo spins around and looks at me in the dimly lit room before I quickly wrap him in a hug. He's taken aback, but slowly links his arms around me. Milo has been my biggest comfort since being here.

"I know we're not allies. I know we're against each other. B-But don't die on me." I mumble into Milo's top.

He squeezes a bit tighter. "Same for you."

We don't say anything as Milo lets me go and goes to sit down on his bed. I follow cautiously as Milo climbs in one side and curls up for sleep. I take my place on the other side of the large bed and do the same. After a while, I hear Milo begin to snore.

I blink at the window I'm facing.

Back in Six, I was liked by a few people. Actually, scratch that, a lot of people. But, one group of friends in particular I was drawn to. I don't know why and I can't explain my reasons, but the large cliché became like a home to me. Except, they were awful people. Not to me but to others. Anya and Macon were demeaning and horrid to anyone that threatened the fabric of our group. Shani, however, was probably the one I was most closest to and yet the most awful one, throwing insults around in every other sentence.

Everyone hated me after that. Even my brother, Devlin, despised me. I was accepted and he was thrown out.

The group was the largest in Six and, well, I just wanted to be accepted and feel accepted in something. They were the only ones that made me feel like that, and in payment, everyone turned their backs against me simply because the others were mean. I never said anything; but you get judged for who you hang with.

If I get to go home, I'll apologise to everyone that Anya or Macon or Shani or the others ever were mean to.

If I get to go home, I'll change everything and get people to like me properly for me.

I just want to go home.

* * *

**Evy Redwood, District Seven Female.**

* * *

I awake early the next morning, the anticipation and nerves all getting to me. Last night wasn't the best of sleeps I've ever had. And, yesterday, I got to learn something new from the interview with Hermes. My twin brother had died in a Games where the forest was set alight not long after the bloodbath had happened. The Ninety-Seventh. Turns out, both the girl from One and the boy from Two lost their siblings in the same Games.

Even more ironic is the fact that the boy from Two's brother was the one that pushed Kye out of the way, impaling him on the boy from Four's spear.

His death was quick and the video was over before it really began. Yet, it was enough to almost send me into a rage. I felt like throwing myself across the stage and scratching out Hermes' eyes, until they were nothing but bloody sockets. I'm not even normally that aggressive, and yet, all I could see was the boy from Four whose spear skewered itself straight through Kye's neck. Each face in the audience resembled him.

Luckily, though, I got off stage without being dragged off and Aspen done just as bad, getting slightly emotional over watching his mother die.

I'm dressed and ready, swinging open my door, face-to-face with Aspen. It's almost like deja vu, the first day of training burning into my mind.

"You ready?" Aspen asks, but it lacks the usual enthusiasm.

I nod. "Suppose so. When can you ever be ready?"

Aspen doesn't answer me, only stepping aside. I quickly whip my hair into a ponytail and step out, Willow and Maple sitting at the table and waiting kindly. Willow smiles comfortingly whilst Maple just nods. When I see her eyes, though, I can register something else. Regret.

Maple just so happened to be the winner of the Ninety-Seventh Games. She prevailed over my brother, as well as the Careers' siblings. She was my twin brother's district partner.

That's why I acted rude to her. She won. She came back with her riches and life whilst my brother came back home in a wooden box.

"Aspen, can I speak to you for a moment?" Willow says quietly, directing Aspen over to the door away from the table.

I'm left there with just Maple, her eyes still regretful and hardened at the same time. She doesn't say anything as she slides the seat next to her outwards. I sit down, complying for once, watching Maple slide a piece of toast over to me.

"I never got to say sorry for Kye not staying alive," Maple starts off gruffly. "But do know, when we were in the Capitol, he kept me sane."

Currently, Maple is twenty. She was seventeen when she won, yet, she's saying that a twelve-year old kept her sane. It must have been Kye's innocence. We might have been twins and we were extremely close, but we were polar opposites in personality. The thought of Kye, sweet and smiling brings the emotions to the surface, and a single tear slips from my eye.

"When I killed the boy from Four... It was for him. I watched it happened and I could do nothing. I promised myself to not let Kye die in vain."

I stand up, unable to hear anymore tales of my brother, when Maple grabs my wrist, spins me rather impressively and then wraps me in a short and sweet hug. She doesn't need to say anything else. That pretty much sums up our joint feelings over my brother dying so early on in life. Aspen and Willow come back over, Aspen smiling a little more now. Aspen jerks his head in the direction of the door, and one by one, we file out the room that become my sanctuary for the past week.

* * *

**Nate Lawson, District Eight Male.**

* * *

The elevator slides open and I stand back, gesturing my hand outwards.

"Ladies first."

Smiling, Chiffon and Velvet enter first, closely followed by Twill. Twill doesn't smile at me and I suddenly feel terrible for what I threw at her the other night. I hope she didn't take it the wrong way. I just wanted to mold a friendship or mutual respect between us. Many other district partners don't even communicate or they are allies. Me and Twill, well, I feel like we're neither. Stuck in the middle somewhere. Chip or Kieran don't speak to their district partners, whereas Margot says that her and her district partner have a mutual respect and understanding.

Really, I feel like they're doing it.

I slide in after them all, Chiffon pressing the button for us to rise.

The trip up there is silent and thick in tension, no-one speaking whatsoever. Mainly it's Twill who makes the tiny box room feel heavy. She keeps her arms straight at her sides, eyes locked forward and jaw clenched. Something tells me that she either isn't ready for what is about to happen or that she might be afraid of heights. I don't know. That just goes back to my point of me not knowing where I stand with Twill.

The electronic doors whisk open.

Twill charges out without a second thought. Chiffon and Velvet each share a saddened, confused look, whilst I extract myself from the elevator. Chiffon and Velvet step behind me, one of them tapping me on the shoulder.

"I'll go see how Twill is doing," Velvet mumbles before staring at me. "Good luck Nate. I hope everything goes right for you."

"I'm sure it will. I've never let something bring me down." I grin back.

"That makes you a better person that most."

Velvet skips away, rushing to Twill as she begins to board one of the two hovercrafts loaded for us. I'll be required to get in the other one to ensure that no communication can happen between us, not that me and Twill talk that much, anyway. Chiffon spins me around, her hands on my shoulders.

"I just want you to stick to the plan your alliance has formed. I spoke to Bolt, Chip's mentor, and they formed a plan."

"Which is?"

"Bloodbath," Chiffon grimaces. "I'm not happy with it, but Bolt won and that means something to me."

"What did you do to actually win then?"

"I ran," Chiffon stares dead-on. "I ran and hid. Waited for the final two before overpowering the last tribute. But, Bolt is more smart and you've clearly let it known that Chip is indeed smart."

"Logical would be a better word." I smirk.

"Either way, your alliance is heading into the bloodbath. Both the girls know that, and you should too. Don't get separated, okay?"

"I'll try not to," I smile it away as Chiffon hugs me tight. "Come on Chiff, you're embarrassing me now."

Chiffon lets me go and kisses the top of my forehead. I slowly begin to walk away from her, heading over to the opposite hovercraft that Twill entered. I wait in line behind one of the other tributes, the girl from Nine I believe, and load into the craft. I take a seat between her and the boy from Seven, smiling around at the many confused, twisted expressions. A mixture of sadness and anxiety fills the air swiftly. I won't join them though. I can't let myself feel depressed. No.

Being upset just isn't what I do; isn't what I'm capable.

I was born to smile.

* * *

**Dagan Grove, District Nine Male.**

* * *

The hovercraft whizzes almost silently through the skies, taking us to the arena of death. I shouldn't be surprised that the tributes around me are all quiet and conscious. The girl from Eight and the boy from Ten say nothing and do nothing on either side of me. Instead, they each radiate a sense of insecurity that interrupts my strong wall.

I wouldn't say I'm scared. I doubt I'm that scared for what is about to happen. I know, minus the arrogance, that I'm going to survive. Besides the Careers, I've dominated over every other outlying district tribute. I even got a better score than the girls from Two and Four; both Careers, both that are suppose to be powerful, both clearly not living up to their label.

A little chuckle bubbles from my throat over the thought of Two asking me to join them.

Join them when I'm better than a quarter of them? Doesn't make sense whatsoever.

I glimpse across the craft, noticing Hayl looking down. She looks up for the briefest of moments and flashes a concerned, caring smile.

After announcing that she agrees with our alliance, Hayl has warmed up to me a lot more than I thought. I still imagined her knocking me away, being overprotective and worrying that, in some sense, I might abandon her or that this would totally go out of control. The hovercraft begins to speed up a little, a small voice over the speaker telling us to hold on tight. I grip down on my armrests hard and wait for the speeding, which lasts about ten minutes, to come to a stop.

The speed then slows down to almost nothing. We begin to descend, obvious by the sudden pressure within the walls.

We hit the ground and the large door drops open. One by one, we're lead out of our seats and down the ramp, grabbed and escorted by a Peacekeeper towards our Launch Room. I manage to grab another glimpse at Hayl, looking afraid, and Poppy, hopelessness in her eyes most evident.

The Peacekeeper that grabs me, a man within his late thirties and a large, hideous nose, knocks me forward so that I stop looking at my "opponents".

Soon enough, I'm pushed down a hallway and then, into my room, my stylist, Orive, waiting patiently.

She doesn't say anything, only gesturing for me to sit down at the table for some food and pointing at the black bag that contains my costume for the Games.

"It's something wonderful." Orive chirps.

"I know I am," I smirk back, Orive's face dropping in smile, clearly not impressed. "No humor I see. And here I was thinking that I was the one fighting for my life and should be depressed and quiet."

"Witty."

I take my seat and rip the bread into two, offering her half of the loaf. "What can I say? I'm a complex person."

* * *

**Sawyer Chance, District Ten Male.**

* * *

My stylist Claude paces around and around the Launch Room, eyes glued to the outfit on the stand, propped out, waiting to be fitted onto me. He keeps his hand to his chin and hums in silent agreement. The outfit itself is definitely different to what I've ever seen before.

A blood red jumpsuit, plain and simple; very bright and very shiny. Almost the same colour as blood. It's long and covers nearly every inch of my skin, only showing my hands and head. Even my neck is covered by the material.

"This is peculiar," Claude decides, running the material through his fingers carefully. "This is nothing special. Simple latex rubber that expands and stretches for the tribute, but keeps away the cold and absorbs the warmth. Waterproof, so it might be raining in the arena or along those lines."

"Is that it?" I ask, knowing how kind Claude really is.

He smiles softly at me. "There isn't much to it, Sawyer."

Claude hands me the outfit, and slowly, I peel my clothes handed from the Capitol and drop them to the floor in a heap. I climb into the outfit, amazed by how quickly it attaches to my body, becoming like a second layer of skin. Claude smiles and hands me my token, a small piece of rope that he has fashioned into a bracelet.

"I thought it wasn't ethical for you to carry just a piece of rope around, and so, I decided to form a bracelet from it," Claude says watching me loop it on. "That way, it's like a little piece of me is in the arena with you. I know you can do it, Sawyer, and you know it too."

But I don't. I mean, I probably do have a good shot, and Noelle won't be dragging so much if she's willing to throw a few knives at the other tributes. We could try the tactic I had planned. A knife in the leg, a rope twisted around their throat.

"Thank you Claude."

"No problem kiddo, you best get something to eat, you never know what might be in the arena for food."

I sit down and slowly sip the soup I've been given; leek and cabbage. It reminds me of home, actually. Leek and cabbage soup was a common dinner for us. It settles a sense of warmth and security in my heart. Claude sits nearby and watches the clock count down slowly.

After eating, I slip into my boots and Claude ties them up since I don't know how to.

When he's done them, he places his hands on my shoulders and holds me in place. "Come home, okay?"

"I'll try."

"No trying, there is only doing," Claude smiles softly once more. "And as I've said, you can do this."

* * *

**Ambrosia LaMarie, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

I wait with anticipation, watching the clock on the wall slip down each digit slowly. It couldn't go slower, though, because I'm not really ready for this. All week I've felt like Otto has been against me, which he has, but it's like he was determined to absorb all the attention from Mako and Ida, and then Falco, just so that I wouldn't have no guidance or help. He wanted me dead, and so, he decided that no help would eventually get me killed.

My stylist, Koopa, does nothing but slowly chew on his sandwich and check his ear piece every other second.

He doesn't care that much either.

Slowly, I'm beginning to realise all of that. That, at the end of the day, no matter what they say, Mako and Ida have won once already whilst Falco and Koopa will never have to worry about losing their life any time soon. Their life is just dandy.

"You have a few minutes. You might want to eat up quickly." Koopa orders, his eyes hidden behind the bright blue hue known as his hair.

I take a bite from the sandwich, watching the soup slide along the table at me from Koopa. Inside contains tomato soup. Red. The colour sends shivers down my spine and I have to push it away. It slips off the counter, though, and falls to the floor with a splash and clang.

Koopa complains about the mess that I've made, but I can't shake the memory.

Blood. So much blood. My aunt Artemis had set the trap to catch another tribute. It backfired; she stood in the middle of it, a make-shift bear trap, and it clamped around her leg, piercing into her thigh. She cried and cried. She bled and bled, painting the ground underneath her. I had to watch it last night, and the thought almost made me sick to my stomach. So much blood.

"You are a klutz," Koopa complains once more, sweeping the floor with a cloth. "You're lucky you're beautiful, otherwise, it would have gone the opposite direction really."

Everyone told me I've been blessed with good looks. My mother, most of all. She obsessed over my looks on a daily basis, spending tons of time just running her small, rough brush through my hair, repeating the words in my ear. At first, I thought it was simply to encourage self-appreciation or to grow my self-esteem. Then, she wouldn't stop, and when my little sister Nectar was born, she done exactly the same to her.

The clock begins to tick down into single digits finally. Ten minutes until launch. So far, it seems to be dragging.

All of a sudden, Koopa is next to me, running his fingers through my hair, much like mother did with the brush.

"Every girl should envy your looks, Ambrosia."

I don't say anything in reply. My eyes stay locked on the clock, watching the hands sweep over the face. I could die in a few minutes. I could die in the next few days. I might not die at all, and then, I'll have to live through the horror that the Games will bore into my mind. Really, the odds aren't that great.

Either way, I'm never going to be a winner, either I die or survive.

* * *

**Margot Roybal, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

For some reason, I don't feel so scared about the next few hours of my potential life. I could be dead after it. Somehow, though, I don't feel like it is my time. I might be branded as arrogant or confident if I ever said that aloud, especially around Chip or Kieran, but it's the truth. I just don't feel so scared about something I have no control over whatsoever. At the end of the day, if they want me dead, they'll do it.

Peeta proved that point when he mentioned that the third Quarter Quell was rigged so that he and his district partner, Katniss, would die.

It might be a different Snow, but I'm almost certain that the traits flowed through.

"I think it's almost time." my stylist, Yena, squeaks at us.

I nod, my thoughts on Hacket. I wonder how he feels? No doubt emotionless over it all. I can't see him fretting about dying or killing. He's like a brick; just strong and cold. But unlike a brick, Hacket is quite the looker indeed. The last two nights have been most entertaining, and sadly, it's over. Maybe we'll meet in the arena. Might be the first tributes to ever engage in something too rude for television. It's all a possibility.

Yena squeaks something again, and slowly, I rise and walk over to the glass tube.

Our costume is definitely different from what I've seen. The bright red jumpsuit clashes with my pale skin and red hair. With the jumpsuit, I have nothing but black combat boots. Simple and effective.

The clock hits the final number, and suddenly, a voice booms throughout the Launch Room. I instantly recognise it as the announcer, Gregor Flack. He mentions that we have ten seconds to climb into our tubes.

"This is all too exciting!" Yena giggles and claps her hand.

I feign a smile as the glass doors close on me, trapping me in. It's almost like all the air has been sucked away. I hold my breath as the plate beneath me begins to rise upwards, painstakingly slow. I wait for the light to beam inwards and shower me, but it doesn't. My eyebrows knit together as, without squinting or even having to close my eyes, I'm pushed up into the arena.

The first thing I notice is the large, wooden planks that surround three sides of me, leaving only the front open. It's definitely confusing, and I was right, since no sunlight whatsoever is coming down. I blink a few times before looking outwards, noticing the golden skin of the Cornucopia, but not on level ground. No. Dirt lies a few inches in front of me before it descends downwards, a small slope leading down to the Cornucopia and surrounding area, scattered with backpacks and knives and water bottles and the lot. Everything we need if we're brave enough.

The rest of the arena must be behind me. Blocked from my obvious view.

I can't see what tributes are next to me or whose opposite. In fact, I can only see four, two either side of my vision. The boy from Two and the girl from Four stand next to each other, the former with a stone-faced expression and the latter seeming more scared and awestruck. On the other side, though, is the girl from Three and the boy from Eleven. Both look shaky but trying their hardest to concentrate. The other tributes must be between them. And then, them and me. If out of twenty-four I can only see four, it'll make the whole experience a lot harder than other years. Then again, this isn't a Quarter Quell for nothing.

What surprises me most though is the shape of the wooden planks. They're not just over me, but everyone else, and my eyes lock on Three.

Above her, they go up, before crossing up and meeting at the top.

They're shaped like a coffin, designed so that we look like we're laying in them.

Behind her and her coffin, though, lies what I can only see is a mass of trees the colour of amber and a gravel path leading outwards, lined with six lampposts.

The scenery catches my throat, taking my breath away. It looks familiar. The trees. The convenient gravel path lined with lampposts. The coffins.

The arena this year is a graveyard, almost identical to the one back in Twelve.

Most definitely ironic.

* * *

_"Ladies and gentlemen, let the One Hundredth Hunger Games begin!"_

* * *

**All Fall Down by OneRepublic.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

******I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Who likes the idea of my arena? Who expected it? ;)_**

**_Also, bloodbath is next. Stupid question - but who do you think will make a kill and who do you think will die?_**

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**And here we are! These tributes have been some of my greatest and most favourite tributes I have ever had. I just want to thank you all for creating them - I know that you guys will start to disappear once your tribute has (possibly) died, so I want to get it out now rather than later. Of course, you know the odds are never in someone's favor.**

**But, thank you!**

**On another note - can I make 100 reviews before the bloodbath, in honor of the 100th Games?!**


	8. Bring Me Back To Life

**Bring Me Back To Life.**

_Don't let me die here; t__here must be something more._

* * *

**Noelle Alcott, District Six Female.**

* * *

The whole scenery is breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. If I didn't know what was about to happen, I'd be amazed by the mere sight of things. On the outskirts of the Cornucopia lies maple-coated trees, large leaves taking up most of the sky, which doesn't shed any light. In fact, the moon lies on top of the sky, straight above the Cornucopia, showering the ground with streams of light. Usually, the moon would be somewhere else, but as you look up above the Cornucopia, you can see it, almost watching everyone.

My breath hitches in my throat as I try and stare past my wooden boards.

I can only see four tributes; to my left, the girl from Seven and the boy from Eleven. To my right, the boy from Three and the girl from Nine.

I can't see Sawyer or Milo, for that matter, and my heart races at the thought of being abandoned so quickly. My eyes stare up at the clock, beginning the countdown once Gregor Flack's voice has evaporated from the air.

_60..._

In a few moments, all hell will break loose, tributes running out from their shelters as fast as possible. I can't tell whose on either side of me, which makes the whole ordeal a lot more scarier. How can I fight someone to survive when I can't see them? The boy from Three just stares around hard before making a face at someone, maybe one of his allies. On the other side, neither Eleven or Seven show any real fear. Eleven makes a few jerky movements, but Seven stays stony and collected.

You can't avoid the girl from Nine, though, the mute girl.

_50...40..._

Her eyes are snapping around and every little noise that beckons out. The sweep of leaves through the air. A tribute making some disgruntled noise. The sound of a crow squawking in the distance. She definitely doesn't look too stable.

_30..._

Her eyes find mine, surprisingly, and a small, sweet smile forms on her face. I don't remember ever talking to her or seeing her as a threat - she had simply been dubbed as the mute girl - but her smile manages to force one onto my own face, and it comes off genuine, not forced. I try to shake my head of all thoughts, focusing on my feet and the mud slope that leads down to the golden horn. It's not steep but rather, capable of running down but not counting out the fact that you could slip or trip. Trip right onto a Career's blade.

_20...10..._

I can't help myself, and my eyes find Nine once more. Tears are clear on her face, but the small stays in tact. She looks peaceful compared to something; like she's settled some deed in her head. Her feet edges forward, just a tad, and it sends shivers down my spine. My whole body becomes frozen and my face drops, the realisation of what she's about to do clicking in. Her next foot moves more fluidly, slipping over the edge.

Her hands spread out, like an angel, and she throws herself off the platform.

_0..._

Amber flames sprout from somewhere, igniting the girl and licking away her flesh. She doesn't scream whatsoever; but the loud boom of her detonator going off is clear. Splinters and debris from her wooden hut spits out everywhere as the explosion rings out, sparks and flamed pieces of wood flying in every direction, showering the two tributes either side of her and across the mud. Her skeleton, white bones and blackened flesh, falls to the floor in a heap.

I hear a few cries and everyone seems stuck in place despite the countdown being gone.

I look to see a Career, the boy from One, sprinting down as hard as he can. The sight of him seems to stir and soon enough, all the other tributes begin to power down the slope, ignoring the smell of burned flesh in the air and the shock of a suicide. I stand there, blinking back the horror of what happened, when Sawyer jumps out right next to me. He doesn't notice me and begins running alongside every other tribute in the hopes to secure safety.

For some reason, I don't move.

I stand there, watching the scene play out before me. The boy from One manages to snatch up a large machete pretty quickly, swiping out at the boy from Seven when he gets too close. The attack misses, but One doesn't give up, driving it forward and allowing the blade to slice across Seven's covered arm. You'd never be able to tell if he was bleeding; our suits are the same colour as blood.

He manages to deliver a kick in return and grab a hatchet from the bounty, running around and swinging it wildly at the girl from Ten who seems intent on trying to punch Seven's district partner. She scatters, and the whole time, I'm frozen in place, the eyes and the smile of Nine imprinted on my mind. She killed herself because she knew she didn't have a chance. She knew that she was at a disadvantage; being mute wouldn't have proved helpful.

Yet, I watched her body become a fireball. Helpless. Unable to do a thing.

But somehow, I can't fight away the feeling of satisfaction; one down, a step closer to going home.

* * *

**Cyra Matrons, District Two Female.**

* * *

Everywhere, tributes fight and scream, taking hits and delivering some of their own. My hands wrap around the scythe laid before me, myself a calm among the chaos. I don't plan on trying so hard to hunt someone down. Securing my place means not dying through a failed attempt. Lamont basically got his ass kicked by the little boy from Seven. I don't plan on doing the same. Nearby, Ajax fights with the boy from Nine, using the spear in his hands to deflect and catch Nine's pitchfork.

Somewhere out in the scene, Honor, sword in hand, chases down the girl from Six who has emerged from her coffin.

Too bad she might be returning there sooner than she thought. Really, I never thought Honor would have it in her. She got a better score than me, proving my point that she is indeed trained. Ajax didn't believe me, saying that she looks more weak than anything. Of course, he said it in that manner that made me want to punch him, and not because I like Honor, but simply because he sounded like a conceited bastard.

She manages to swipe at the girl from Six, but she's so small, the sword flies straight over her head and Six shuffles between her legs swiftly, running away.

Honor spins around, but doesn't look affected by not securing a kill.

Out of nowhere, the little boy from Eleven charges at me, a pathetic knife in his hands. His face is a mask of disgust and fear rolled into one. The little knife darts out and I dodge without much effort. He goes again, and this time, I swipe the knife from his hand with my scythe. The small metallic objects flies out of the way, and I expect him to look scared or afraid, but his face stays angry.

"You can't kill me," he says defiantly, beginning to stagger back. "You're nothing but a girl, too worried about getting dirt under your fingernails."

"Oh, really?" I laugh. "Well, someone is a little bit of a jackass."

"You can't talk to me like that, woman!"

"I can say what I want, child!"

His foot snags on a piece of sunken mud and he stumbles, arms windmilling as he lands down on his back. He's quick to his feet, spinning around to run, and I just can't help myself when I dip my scythe out, hooking it around his foot and yanking back, watching the boy fall quick; just as quick as he rises.

My scythe comes down fast and pierces into his ankle. He screams in pain. A bloodcurdling scream.

"Now who has dirt under their fingernails," I mock him slowly, dragging the knife up his ankle. "Want to say something else?"

"W-W-W-"

"What was that?" I rip the scythe out, watching the blood squirt like a fountain.

"W-W-Whore!"

I swing down with all my might, silver blade cutting through the soft skin that covers his neck. His scream is cut off, head tilting back to reveal the gruesome sight of the inside of his neck. I haven't fully decapitated him; just cut through three quarters of his neck, his head hanging on my a fine layer of skin and connected veins. For some reason, I enjoyed that more than I thought. I said I wasn't going to hunt. The stupid boy just picked the wrong girl to try and bully.

I turn when I hear someone creeping up on me, Ajax showing a mighty looking wound on his cheek as he looks at the mouth of the horn behind me.

"Oh no, his looks have been compromised. Now what use do you have for our pack of animals, Ajax?"

Ajax glares as he walks away, a knife in one hand and a spear in the other. Around me, the chaos is still abundant. Still, no-one has chosen to run away. Everyone has chosen to stay and fight. Even the little kids like Six and Ten, or plain idiots like Five and Eight. Not far from me, the body of a tribute lays burned to a crisp. I have no idea who jumped, but good for them. Saved us all a lot of time having to hunt their pathetic self down.

The girl from Twelve kicks the girl from Eleven as she lay on the floor, curled up in a ball. The boy from Twelve manages to punch Marlin when he gets too close. The girl from Five stands idly behind the boy from Nine as he fights away the girl from Ten. Pure fascination and appeal fills my eyes. Maybe I should hunt. Just one. A little child. Yeah, that'll be good - I've killed one, might as well make a pair of the act.

* * *

**Aspen Berkley, District Seven Male.**

* * *

Me and Evy stand around, our ragged breaths mixing in the air. Everyone continues to fight, and out of nowhere, Danielle comes running. Her face is flushed red and her hands match the same colour. A backpack hangs on her shoulder loosely.

"Where's Milo?" Evy asks.

Danielle shrugs helplessly. "I don't know."

Evy doesn't seem that impressed with Milo's choice of abandonment; this coming from the girl who probably didn't want the alliance to be formed in the first place. Now, it feels more about her wanting to be the leader of us all. Going from not wanting us to getting annoyed when one opts out. I don't blame Milo or even hate him - we were reasonably close since training, but then again, I was the one who gathered both Milo and Danielle to join us. Evy's personality isn't made to shine for other people, it's just a cold, hardened shell that reacts and acts out. Yet, I still care for the girl. She's still awesome.

"Great, abandoned this early," Evy grumbles. "Oh well, not that he was helpful, anyway."

Evy snags Danielle's wrist and begins to tug her away, and I follow, our feet quick and our breaths still hard. Everyone's scared. Everyone but the Careers, that is. The possibility of dying is really high, sadly, and anyone can fall victim to them. We skirt the outside of the ground, no-one bothering us. I chased the girl from Ten away and that was it. We've been lucky.

Too lucky.

I hear the footsteps and manage to swing around, just in time to see the boy from Eight throw out a lousy punch at me. I dodge it easily, alerting both Danielle and Evy. Evy jumps forward and boots out her foot, stabbing the boy in his knee. His ally, the girl from Ten, isn't far from behind, and she throws something. All three of us throw ourselves to the floor to miss it, and in the mean time, the girl from Ten reaches us and jerks out her foot, kicking Danielle in the stomach. She cries out and Evy grabs Ten's ankle, sweeping her to the ground in a painful thud. I see a flash of red hair running towards us with a spear locked in their hands. My hand mindlessly grabs Danielle and forces her shaking form to her feet. Evy tumbles onto Ten and delivers a punch to the cheek.

"Evy!" I scream.

Evy launches another punch, her face now a mask of fury and anger.

The red head continues to get closer, and without thinking, I push Danielle away and throw myself at Evy, locking my fingers around her shoulders and lifting her up. She lets out an angry growl, but Danielle's pity cry seems to bring her to her senses. Ten lays on the floor in a confused state, but we will never know who the red head was - the moment Evy has her thoughts gathered, hopefully rather quickly, we begin running. I hear the spit of the spear as it slides straight past our running forms, spiking the ground at our feet.

We begin to make our way across the ground, ignoring the girl from Four jerk out a hateful slap to the girl from Eight's face. That's when I hear the painful sound of a guttural scream.

Everyone turns around in a second, noticing the boy from Twelve, the heel of his boot connected to the sunken, bleeding skull of the boy from Three, Danielle's district partner. Danielle squeaks as Twelve repeats the crushing action, leaving Three's cry for help hanging in mid-air as his eyes go colourless.

"Move!" Evy snaps once more.

She thrusts Danielle forward, and after stumbling a little, Danielle picks up her feet and begins running as fast as possible, without stopping. Evy and me are right behind her, and with two backpacks, a knife and a hatchet between us, we skip over the hill and begin running across the dirt clearing. I can still hear the small cries of the tributes left, including the weak whimper from Danielle. She said she wasn't close to Chip, but he was a sense of security and a reminder of the stereotypes back in District Three. I guess the reality of it all has caught up with her, unfortunately. The woods, tall and thick, begin to near us. We slow down and my eyes drift to the lampposts nearby.

One lamppost is bright red, the others white. The little section it lights proves to be much darker and serious.

"We head in there, then," Evy breathes heavily. "The bit where everything is darker."

"Why there?" I respond.

"Better privacy, duh."

I nod slowly as Evy slinks her way past the few towering trees, blending into the red shadows. I quickly look at Danielle, who looks more sullen and depressed, who nods in agreement and follows. My eyes check over head, noticing how the moon doesn't actually reach out here that much, meaning the lampposts, tall and metal, provide the only light for the arena. Surely it can't be that big?

"Aspen, move!" Evy's voice beckons from the trees.

And with that, I go, leaving behind the blood and death.

* * *

**Ajax Rogue, District Two Male.**

* * *

Cyra has finally moved from her high horse, beginning to scout outwards. She killed one tribute, and now she feels like her work and claim to Victor has already been collected. If she doesn't prove worthy, she'll be dead. No matter what anyone says, the Capitol and District Two have kept a close connection since the Dark Days. For some reason, the Capitol and the President have always favoured our tributes over others. That's why they built our Training Centre, the building shadowed by the Justice Building.

And because of that, Two sends their chosen volunteers in; this year, me and Golda, two of the best. Cyra wouldn't have ever got the chance; she proved too weak and a lack of skill and knowledge. If she doesn't prove her worthy of breaking Training Centre rules, the Capitol will kill her off by Mutts or a freak accident, Two showing their great choice in allying with the Capitol rather than the Districts.

The bloodbath is slowing down.

The boy from Nine and the girl from Five are gone, safe and sound. Five's district partner, however, lies in a pool of blood alongside the boy from Eleven. Cyra probably killed him not long after killing Eleven. A fine trail of red is visible of pale face, running from his lips.

Only three deaths isn't impressive, and one of them was a suicide.

I watch in the distance as the girl from Eight, a backpack in one hand and a knife in the other, disappears over the hill and between two wooden coffins. Another one safe and escaped. Another one for us to hunt.

Azolla runs over, panic in her face.

"What is it?" I ask, somewhat kind but determined. I don't mind Azolla; much nicer and talkative compared to Cyra and Honor.

"N-Nothing," she breaths heavily. "Just tired."

I scan her body quickly, finding no evidence of an attack or wound. Particularly no blood. She flashes a brief smile as she bends over to sit down, tucking her knees underneath her chin. Tributes don't bother with grabbing stuff from the Cornucopia, really, only the scattered items around the horn. Careers dominate this area and that is completely obvious. The boy from Twelve dashes up the hill on one side, the girls from Ten and Twelve, the boy from Eight, all running up the other, their fallen ally abandoned.

"Ahhhhhh!"

A scream beckons out loud and much clearer, and Azolla's head sinks a little lower into his knees. I run around the edge to see the girl from Six, so tiny and frail, looking down at her fallen ally. The boy from Ten screams and cries, his gut stabbed by Lamont's machete. He coughs and splutters blood and Six begins to stagger back, face pale and sickly. He rips it out swiftly, wiping his knife on his leg. He begins to walk over to Six with a calm face. She doesn't do anything. She doesn't run or plead or anything. Tears stream her cheeks and it's almost like she's given up and accepted her fate. Lamont gets closer before a boy, young and with a head of curls, throws himself out.

Six's district partner punches Lamont squarely in the gut, another to his face and then a third to his gut again. Lamont seems weakened and in the moment, Six scoops up his tiny partner and begins to run away, the only item on them being a small backpack.

Lamont spins around, but doesn't look angry or annoyed. A cold, ruthless, poker face.

"I can get another," he speaks evenly, a violent bruise forming on his jaw. "I can get a lot more."

"Do what you want." I shrug.

He walks away, not even angry that I didn't intervene. Despite being in an alliance, us Careers have one rule that we must follow; you don't help another Career out. No matter what, a Career isn't to fight or protect another Career. It's a honor and dignity thing, I guess, but more due to our agreement. Our alliance is founded upon strength and what we bring to the group, not friendship or trust. If one of us dies, we move on, simple as that, we asked for this and that is how we have to play it. That's why I didn't help Lamont.

His death would have only helped me move on further.

No matter how cruel or cold it sounds.

* * *

**Twill Mousseline, District Eight Female.**

* * *

The gravel path I saw isn't the only one; in fact, there are exactly four paths equidistant apart, six lampposts lined on each, bringing the total to twenty-four. I wait near an orange tree, watching as a fourth light off in the distant turns from a helpful white to a murderous red. It's not hard to tell that a light turns red each time a tribute dies. The girl from Nine and the boys from Three and Eleven proved to be that example.

Now, another coffin that is going to be full once more.

The arena itself proves to be small but expansive. Behind the coffins lied a dirt clearing, open and vulnerable, coated in areas by the fallen maple leaves. The gravel paths started up from the ground somewhere in the middle of the clearing, shooting out and heading into the forests, lined by the lampposts and shrouded by the trees. That's why there is lampposts; moonlight can't stream down onto the paths due to the trees covering the sky above it.

That, of course, means the forests are dark and spooky. Every now and then, a crow squawks.

I got in and out the bloodbath with little problems. Everyone was focused on the mysterious suicide that they never heared the gong ring out. The Careers did, naturally, but I was on-guard and unaffected by it. My mission was to get in and out. My only problem proved to be the girl from Ten, who tried kicking me in the stomach. The girl from Four proved no problem at all. My hand idly rubs the cheek she slapped, remembering the stinging feeling.

I switch the backpack straps on my pack, leaning up from the tree and beginning my descent into the forest. The air seems thick and musky, the sickly sweet smell of maple drifting on the slight breeze.

I never did see Nate. I never did get to apologise. After that night, I avoided him. I don't know why. I didn't want for him to see things the wrong way - I wanted him to just leave the point alone. Sadly, it didn't work, and if anything, Nate didn't make an effort to try again after my first rejection. I can't get attached, not in a place like this. My brother failed and died early on. I can't leave my family, too, and I know that befriending Nate would only prove traumatic when I either saw his face in the sky or had to drive the knife into his heart myself. That kind of commitment can't exist in a place like this, a place of death and child murder.

The dirt underneath my foot squelches and slips, proving to be moist. I keep heading out, slipping and sliding past towering trees, determined to distance myself as far as possible from the bloodbath.

Another squawk catches my attention, and slowly, my eyes drift upwards into the mass of leaves.

A large bird, much larger than an average crow, sits perched on a high branch and stares downwards, blood red eyes glaring. It tilts his head almost playfully and cries again. Everything in my body tells me to run. To run whilst I can. But, for some reason, I stay in place, watching the bird jump down nimbly to the branch below.

I step a foot backwards carefully.

It jumps another branch.

Another step and another branch cleared.

My heart races, and when it gets closer to the ground, the crow squawks again, flashing for a brief second a set of razor sharp teeth. This time, my body complies, and I spin around as quickly as possible and begin running. I hear the distinct flap of wings followed by the infamous cry and instantly know it's chasing me. Every nerve in my body reaches the end and sends wave after wave of urgency through my body. If it takes me down, there will be no-one to help me or fight it away. To watch me and hold me whilst I die. I chose that. I chose to be alone. I rejected help and I rejected Nate.

Talons find my shoulders and swiftly force me to the forest floor with a thud.

That's when the anger and fear takes over. I won't be bullied; not by some dumb bird. I manage to twirl over on the ground when the crow releases it's talons from my skin. It begins to squawk and flap it's wings in my face, but it's too late. My hands manage to grab the large wings tight, and with a little struggle, I snap each one, causing the crow to cry in pain between each snap of it's beak.

The large bird falls limp slightly, still chomping air, and I throw it to the side, grabbing the handle of my knife. I swing it out and with a cry, I stab the crow through the chest. Blood oozes from the wound, pooling on the ground, and I stagger back to witness my attack. I control my breathing as much as possible, reality coming back to me alongside the need to scream or cry. The bird proves to be large, almost the size of a toddler. A smile creeps on my face despite the emotions and urgency.

Looks like food won't be a problem for me.

Tonight, I will eat well.

* * *

**Lamont Seifert, District One Male.**

* * *

The girl from Eleven squirms on the ground, tears on her face and a choked cry bubbling from her throat. She clutches her stomach, lips trembling as the six of us stare down on her. Her emotions prove to me that she is indeed weak. Overwhelmed by the sense of freedom and life at stake, she allowed them to take her over, and now, she's as good as dead.

"Whose going to do it then?" Cyra chirps, far too peppy. "Azolla, maybe you? It won't be hard, I promise, even you could do it."

Azolla holds her stare. "I'm okay thanks."

"Shame," Cyra mocks her. "How about Honor? Come on princess, show us how you got that nine of yours."

Honor looks back and forth from Eleven to Cyra, her eyes conflicted but still holding on. Her eyes then meet Ajax, and for some reason, I see the pity in them. Yeah, so Honor's sister was attacked on an unfair scale, and she doesn't feel it's right to do the same to someone else. That's where she goes wrong, too. Her emotions, although subtle and not aloud, prove to still make her human and attached to the world.

"I'll do it."

Everyone looks at me, but no-one says anything as I step forward and out our circle. The girl from Eleven screams in a plea as I raise the machete up high. Her cries become hysteric as I swing it down as hard as possible, landing it directly in the middle of her forehead. Her eyes slowly roll into the back of her head, showing us the white, and she falls completely limp. No-one says anything still as I rip it out. I stare at each one of my "allies" individually, none actually saying anything. Cyra does, however, begin a slow motion clap.

"Mature." Ajax rolls his eyes.

"I thought it would "lighten" the mood, you know, make everything not seem so bad."

"It isn't bad for us."

"Well duh, we're Careers, we're not meant to get hurt."

The way Cyra says the last part, it's almost as if she herself doesn't believe that Careers are human - nothing more than mindless robots, sent to kill and harm and win. We are like that. Our training was extensive and precise. We were made for this in the end. Ajax watches as Cyra kicks away Eleven's lifeless body.

"Respect for the dead, Cyra."

"Respect for the dead, Cyra," Cyra mocks in return. "Quit being high and mighty."

Cyra saunters over to the mouth of the Cornucopia and collects a few backpacks, throwing one at each of us. Cyra has clearly taken the role as Career leader, then, probably much to the amusement of her mentors. More pointless emotions. Excitement over leading a group of killers for a hunt? Not exactly a great role. Career leaders are usually turned on almost instantly. I should know, my cousin, Pallas, was just the same. The leader of her Careers six years ago, the Ninety-Fourth. Her ego, fed by emotions and power, made her stupid. She thought she killed one half of an alliance, taking time in finishing the other off - naturally, the one she thought she killed rose and stabbed her in the back.

"Lets go hunting." Cyra gleams with wicked excitement.

One by one, apart from Marlin and Azolla, connected side by side, we walk up the hill and begin to take a proper look at the arena. None of it fazes me; it partially resembles the local graveyard back in One, but I've never bothered to visit it that much. Not for Pallas and not for anyone else.

"That way," Cyra points to a section of maple trees, large and thick and no doubt extensive. "I have a feeling our prey is out there."

"Always said you were a dog," Ajax remarks. "Your sense of smell must do wonders."

"What can I say? I have my uses," Cyra replies off-handedly. "Shame yours ran out with the cut. Luckily, Honor's looks will give us food and medicine."

Honor's eyes flare in disgust for a moment, but she says nothing, dragging her sword lowly against the ground as we start walking again. Everyone stays in complete silence, the bloodbath not truly over. We reach the large section of trees and Cyra dips in, followed by Ajax and then Marlin, Azolla and Honor and lastly, me. My eyes glance outwards through the haphazard of trees, noticing how the light from the supposed lampposts begins to dwindle the deeper we go in. A sound of excitement comes from up front, and slowly, we pile out into another clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides.

"This arena must actually be huge then," Marlin says to no-one in particular. From where we stand, you can peer into the forest and see that it doesn't seem to stop, but the shadows grow and grow. "It could go on forever. All these trees."

It just gets darker as you go further. Not exactly spectacular, but it'll provide some entertainment for the imbeciles all around me.

The sound of leaves being crunched instantly catch everyone's attention.

To the side, blindly, the boy from Eight steps outwards, waving his hands in his face and calling out two names.

"Kieran! Margot!"

"We're here." Cyra imitates.

His whole body freezes in suspense, and slowly, he draws away his hands. His eyes go huge, the size of saucers, and he spins and begins to run. Cyra cries loudly and dashes forward, followed by the rest of us. The trees prove to be a hazard when Eight snags his foot on a large, unearthed root, forcing him to the ground. He scrambles to his feet but it's too late. Ajax steps up, spear in hand, and throws it with ease. It cascades through the air, impaling itself straight through Eight's lower stomach. He screams in agony, but his life is over.

"Well, I'll be damned, you do have some use."

Ajax stops and stares at Cyra, ripping out the spear from Eight's body without moving his eyes. "Shut up."

The cannons, almost rhythmically, begin to sound.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._

* * *

**Bring Me Back To Life by Evanescence.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Poppy Spool, District Nine.**

**Otto Drake, District Eleven.**

**Chip Pascal, District Three.**

**Sawyer Chance, District Ten.**

**Ambrosia LaMarie, District Eleven.**

**Nate Lawson, District Eight. **

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

******I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Our bloodbaths are completed. Any of whom you were shocked about, liked a little too much (Otto), sad about or expected?_**

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

**My main apology heads on out to goldie, Ambrosia's submitter. I did enjoy her, but found her too difficult to write for. I'm sorry she met an untimely demise, but I didn't want to ruin her character.**

* * *

**Chapters will be a little shorter, but hopefully not a lot. Six POV's per chapter, now, until we dwindle a little. Each tribute will get something before they die, that's a promise - except our bloodbaths, obviously.**

**The arena is a graveyard, yes, but there's more to it - the tributes know this because, in my mind, all the graveyards in the Districts look roughly the same design. The arena is to match it, but there's more to the idea... That I won't share just yet. ;D**

**I know this is a day early... But the next update, next week, will be delayed because of Christmas and my new laptop (eeh!) and everything. So, Merry Christmas guys!**


	9. Carry On

**Carry On.**

_May your past be the sound, of your feet upon the ground._

* * *

**Kieran DeLuca, District Ten Female.**

* * *

I brush out the next branch that flies into my vision. It snaps back and from behind, Margot yelps in slight pain.

"Kieran, be fucking careful!"

I can almost still hear the faint, brushing sound of the cannons that recently erupted. They happened only minutes ago. They also happened to cut through Nate's calling for us. I wanted to shout back, but Margot insisted that we shouldn't. In a sense, that could have been Nate's downfall. Someone could have found him simply through that. I can hear my heartbeat thudding in my ears as I push back the last tree, noticing the pooling blood of red on the dirt.

Nate's body lies on the floor, slightly drifted up over a large root from the tree.

Margot comes in from behind, and when I see her eyes, they mirror mine almost exactly.

"N-N-Nate..." Margot mumbles.

A large, ragged hole is clear in his back. A spear, probably. I look to Margot and then the spear she collected from the bloodbath. The metal arrowheads are almost identical. I bend down, ignoring my shaky knees, pressing two fingers to his neck despite knowing the outcome. He couldn't have survived that. First Chip and then Nate. Two of our allies, gone. Half our alliance, dead. I look back to Margot as she stands remotely still.

"It must have been a Career..." Margot decides. "I didn't see anyone else try the spears."

"They could have hidden their talents." I bite back.

"Don't get snappy with me! It wasn't my fault you ran!"

"Ran?" I shout, standing up, the protest in my legs screaming. "I done anything but run! I tried to fight anyone that came near us! I saved Nate whilst you were too busy kicking a girl that wasn't even fighting back!"

"I was getting into the zone!"

I slam my jaw tight, fighting all the words I want to scream not to come out. It's not that I have a short temper - it's prolonged over the years - but sometimes, some people just grate me the wrong way. In this case, I can't fight back. I've lost two allies out of the three I gained. I can't do this alone and now Margot is the only one I have left. Whether I hate it or not, I have to suck it up and hope all the acidic words die on my tongue.

"Look, lets not argue," I try to reason with her. "We lost Nate and Chip. Now, we ne-"

My words are toppled over by the sound of the anthem. My eyebrows knit together, mirroring Margot's once more, and we strain our eyes to see the dark sky through the canopy. The cannons sounded merely five minutes ago. The gong that rang, when twenty-four heartbeats still were around, wasn't that long ago. There is no way whatsoever that a few hours have gone since I sprinted off that plate.

The first face, no surprise, is Chip, face stoic and calm. I can see Margot wince from my side. We both watched her district partner crush his skull, so brutually and angry. He never looked that evil in training - he looked withdrawn and reserved, a mask of stone. Following him is then Nate, grinning wide, the only tribute with a thumbs up in his picture. A mixture of a laugh and contained sob escapes my throat. I never spoke to Nate that much, but he was an ally, a semi-friend and a trusted one at that. I never thought I could get attached to someone, but I will miss Nate's positivty.

After him is the mute girl from Nine. I feel slightly guilty; she had no chance.

Then, it's a little shocking when Sawyer's tiny, harsh face pops up. Both my allies and then my district partner. True, me and Sawyer were never exactly close, but to see his face in the sky shocks my core. It makes the whole ordeal much more real and painful. The little boy from Eleven is next, closely followed by his district partner, the girl with the curly hair. The sky goes dark once more and the sound of the crows fill the air once more.

Nineteen of us still have blood pumping through our veins.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Margot mumbles.

"What?"

"That sneaky bastard from Five was never dead," Margot shakes her head in disbelief. "He evaded everyone. Hate to say I told you so, considering everything, but I was right about the bloodbath. Shouldn't have done it. Or, we should have, but more the way he played it, not attacking everyone that came along. Chip wasn't that smart as he made out."

I nod slowly, eyes still lingering on the leaves above. She doesn't even understand she's being a hypocrite.

Three people I could actually name are already dead. Besides Margot, I don't know anyone else through word of mouth.

After a while, Margot walks away a bit and sits down on a stump, shuffling through a backpack to grab some food. A squawk from a crow echoes above as I sit down with her. We wait and wait for the hovercraft to come and collect Nate, but it never does. His body stays still, waiting, a pool of ruby liquid like a blanket underneath him. My eyes find the bird above us but it watches intently, never moving, almost like it's waiting for the hovercraft to come for Nate, too. It's perplexing, but Margot stays neutral as she digs into some beef jerky.

With both of them gone, it shows that anyone can die. Chip's brain didn't save him. Nate's cheery attitude didn't save him. Sawyer's reclusive, protective nature didn't save him. To survive, you need to be a monster. A monster of power and tact. You must kill. You must take a life to spare your own.

And, against everything I believe, I have to blend with the notion.

I have to kill. I have to take a life. For some unsettling reason, it doesn't bother me as much as it should.

I guess, deep down, there was a monster that just needed growth. And I'll give it that to save myself.

* * *

**Nomen Clature, District Five Male.**

* * *

A smirk ghosts onto my face as the sky turns dark. I slowly pull myself up, the sticky feeling of little Eleven's blood lingering on my back and neck. I run a hand over it roughly, the thought of his blood on my skin making me feel squirmish. My eyes skip to the boy, though, the sight of the veins in his neck exposed. His head tilts up, barely holding onto the shoulders, decapitated but not fully.

I pull myself to my feet and spin around, the bounty inside the Cornucopia full. Somewhere in those backpacks will be the wires I require to conduct my plan. Quickly, I skip over the little boy and dip into the mouth, digging my way through the first bunch on the outside. Through observation of recent years, I've learned that the backpacks closer to the mouth contain simple food, items and maybe a knife if you're lucky. Deeper, more dangerous, is where the better stuff lie. Poisons. Darts. String and wires and cords. To anyone else, they're pathetic. To a District Three or Five tribute, they are a safe ticket for offence.

The next backpack I pick up contains what I need.

I pull out the Cornucopia, expecting to see the bodies around me gone. Instead, the five bodies lay still, bleeding or burned, white eyes staring out into nothingness.

The faint smell of Nine's charred skin still lingers in the air.

When you look at her plate, where she leaped so valiantly, you see nothing but a mass of ash, white bones and a barely visible face. The boy from Eleven sits near me, his district partner some distance off, around the skin is Ten and up by the hill, so close to freedom, is the boy from Three. Another smirk forms on my face.

I always assumed he was smart. Three tributes usually are, but his district partner seems quiet and meek, whilst he seemed to ooze that confidence that comes with a superior brain. If he was clever, he wouldn't have gotten killed so easily. A boot to his skull. You don't have to be strong to avoid that - some intelligence would have sufficed.

I loop the bag over my shoulder and begin to walk away, throwing the backpack into one of the neatly designed coffins.

My base camp will be here. Here is where everything will come together. Here is where I shall show the world that messing with children, smart children at that, is wrong.

I can almost imagine the shock on Hayl's face when she realises that I'm not actually dead. As I take a seat on one of the plates, I close my eyes to try and picture it better. Zeke's face would be hilarious, too. Pilus never tried this. Zeke, apparently smart, never tried this either. His mouth might be agape and his eyes simmering with shock.

He knew it would happen.

I made that much very clear when he came to see me that day.

The Gamemakers won't know what hit them when this comes to fruition.

A crow squawks once more in the distance, the six red lights burning into the ground and trees, turning them a crimson colour. Six red lights for six types of blood that has been spilled. Clever. Poetic. Also rather easy to decipher. Most idiots will be able to tell that much straightaway. And, here I was thinking that the Head Gamemaker might have been a decent human with an average sized brain.

Shuffling through the backpack, I collect an apple and take a bite. It shouldn't be hard, really, to just go ahead with this plan.

Of course it won't be hard. Not when you're not only as smart as me, but have also been waiting this long to enact that plan. This place is about to get a real treat. Nobody will understand my full reasons for this. I, myself, don't even know the full reasons. But I know that somewhere in my heart and my head, there's a connection, a want, and that want is to honor Pilus' death with something memorable. Something so astounding that in years to come, when I mentor hopeful tributes, they'll be stunned by standing so close to a legend. That their mentor caused a rift in a perfect, deadly timeline of spilled blood.

Another smile forms on my face as I take another bite, the feeling of Eleven's blood still clear on my back and drenched in my hair. My brown curls are now dip-dyed a dark, sticky crimson.

Of course I can do this. I don't even know why I'm questioning my brilliance.

* * *

**Honor Elliot, District One Female.**

* * *

Cyra laughs loudly at whatever Marlin says. But, you can tell it's false and more of an act. Everyone else might not realise it but I do. Cyra lacks the skill, and that much is evident. Azolla matches her in score, yes, but nobody expected Azolla to do well. Her personality, much more sedated and calm, matches her score. Cyra and her arrogance, loud demeanor and threatening behaviour... Well, you'd think she'd have the power to actually back it up. It doesn't match.

So, to make up for skill and her obvious role as Career leader, she tries to get on with people.

Everyone apart from Ajax, that is. They constantly bicker and Cyra seems to get a kick from each time he responds. She wants to be accepted rather than turned on. So, why not laugh at what Marlin said or compliment Lamont to his face and bitch about him behind his back? She doesn't bother with me or Azolla. Something tells me that Cyra doesn't like the fact that she needs to fight for attention against both me and Azolla, a year younger and with more apparent talent.

"She gets on my nerves," Ajax mumbles from my side. "Like anyone would believe that laugh was real."

I nod slowly. "Guess she wants to be liked."

"More like she doesn't want to be rejected or turned on so soon." Ajax deadpans.

In a sense, no doubt without realising it, Ajax is referring to my sister. His brother might not have been around to turn against her, but the rest of them were. Luckily, none of their siblings are in here. Otherwise revenge would be sweet.

The way he looked at me when Cyra was asking about killing the girl from Eleven... He knew. He knew that I wouldn't be able to do it after what happened to Vanity. In a sense, I knew Ajax wouldn't be able to either. He doesn't have the tie to it like me - his brother being killed by nature not tribute - but it shows a lot of humanity that seems to lack in both Lamont and Cyra. I look to Ajax and he frowns, probably knowing what might come next.

"Before you say anything, no," Ajax whispers aggressively. "I don't want to talk about our luck or the irony of it all."

"I wasn't going to mention it."

"Sure."

"But thanks."

"What for?"

"For remotely understanding." I crack the most minute smile, but it works.

Ajax shrugs nonchalantly. "You're welcome, I suppose."

"Hey, Ajax!" Cyra calls, and begrudgingly, Ajax looks up. "Wanna go catch us some food? You know, being the good little animal that you are?"

I can hear Ajax growl underneath his breath in response, but he climbs up without sniping back, grabbing his spear and looking tall and mighty. "Sure thing, princess, but lets not let the power get to your head, hmm?"

Cyra smirks triumphantly as Ajax begins to walk through the masses of trees and disappear. Cyra seems to enjoy the fact that she beat Ajax for just a small moment and goes back to speaking quietly with Marlin. Azolla sits nearby, apparently hating the attention Cyra seems to be dishing out to her district partner. Lamont, as per usual, is unfazed by everything, sat on his own with his back against us, looking up to the moon in our little clearing.

Azolla flashes a smile that I know all too well. It's a sweet, normal smile, but it's laced with something I know too well. The smile reminds me of the same one the girl from Two did as she dragged the blade across Vanity's body. Nobody understands better than me. Nobody knows how to act and hide things better than me. Cyra can't hide her lack of skills and real disdain for everyone. Azolla can't hide the fact that a Career, no matter how sweet they are, are still cold blooded murderers. Ajax can't hide the fact that beneath his rough exterior is a boy who misses his brother, no matter how much he openly denies it. Lamont... He isn't hiding anything, and Marlin is simply Marlin, no disguise or cloak.

Nobody understands how to truly hide everything and anything.

I've been doing it my whole life; and it's the one thing that will secure my victory and not the same fate as Vanity.

* * *

**Dagan Grove, District Nine Male.**

* * *

Hayl mindlessly runs her thumb over the gash on my cheek, a small smile on her face contrasting to the furrowed look set on her eyebrows.

"Is it bad then?" I ask.

"Not really," Hayl smiles it away. "You'll live."

Fighting the boy from Two proved to be more trouble than I expected. He managed to deflect each stab of my pitchfork with ease, the spear like an extension of his hand. But that doesn't mean he spent the entire time simply dodging each move. He done some of his own, and with that spear, he managed to swipe it across my cheek. Just another scare to add to the many I've collected over the years in Nine. Hayl moves her hand away and places it in her lap. The canopy of above provides shade and seclusion, both perfect for the pair of us.

"At least you didn't get injured." I smile softly.

"I guess I was just lucky."

"Well, I'm glad you're lucky. Might make things for us a lot easier."

Hayl laughs lightly and swings the backpack around her shoulder and into her lap. She unzips the bag slowly and pulls out the contens, all of which apart from the food proves useless to us. Not even a knife or weapon or anything. Hayl has nothing to protect herself. My pitchfork will have to do it for the both of us. Hayl takes a bite of an apple, slowly chewing.

When I'm around Hayl, I feel like a different person. A much calmer, nicer, softer person. After everything that's ever happened to me, I'm surprised it's still possible. People would call me defiant, cheeky or downright rude. And I am like that. Just not completely with Hayl. It starts off like that, and slowly, it fades away.

"No weapon for me then. I can't tell whether I'm sad or happy about that." Hayl says evenly.

"Be conflicted, that's the new trend." I smirk in response.

Hayl laughs lightly again and the sound, no matter how corny it sounds, literally lifts my body a little and makes things seem nice. To me, Hayl is like a light in the everlasting darkness that this arena seems to provide. The cannons sounded and not long after, the anthem and deaths. It's almost poetic when Hayl looks at me, like she's thinking the same thing as me.

"It couldn't have been hours since the cannons," Hayl decides. "Do you think, because it seems to be night and night only, that we don't have to wait until night for deaths?"

"Probably," I shrug. "I'm not as thorough as you. If anything, it means a constant update on who is alive and who isn't."

"I guess you could look at it that way."

"On the plus side, your ally is still alive. Poor Poppy..."

"She was the jumper, wasn't she?" Hayl asks quietly.

"I'm not sure. It could have been her or either of the boys from Eight or Ten. I didn't see any of them die," I respond just as quietly, the sound of the crows growing over us almost hauntingly. "I would think it was her though. Poppy seemed so defeated the day of the interviews, I wouldn't be surprised. But, as I said, at least your district partner is still alive."

"Yeah, that's great." Hayl deadpans.

"Don't like him, huh?"

"It's not that. Nomen is... He's got a lot of hate in him at the moment. And, well, it's changed him over the last few days. His confidence has sky rocketed."

I nod along, the first part of her words pounding my brain. A lot of hate in him? I can relate. Most of me is filled with hate. Hate against the Capitol, the Hunger Games, the President that allows the death of children to still happen. I thought that after President Snow had died, his child would abolish the whole idea. He was much kinder, but kept it up. Then, Esmeralda Snow came into power and if anything, the last couple of Games have been more brutal than before. All the young children with their blood on her hands. The whole thought of it makes me want to break out of this arena and go to the President herself to take her down. I would if I could, but before that, I have to win. The rest will have to die. What I hate the most will have to happen in order for me t complete what I want.

Hayl will have to die... But we'll cross that bridge when it comes down to it.

"You can't blame him." I reply easily, hoping that it sounds like I'm not lying but not going against Hayl's ideals.

"I don't blame him," Hayl sighs. "I just... I just wish Nomen wouldn't get confident over something so barbaric as others dying. He has an idea, you know."

That catches my attention. "What kind of idea?"

"I don't know," Hayl shrugs. "But it will most definitely involve everyone else dying. I know that much."

I nod slowly and let the silence settle over us. The crows continue to squawk and gargle overhead, the moon in the sky and the canopy of leaves making everything seem much darker. I look to Hayl, and through some streams of light, I can see her mouth pressed into a line.

"Are you that worried over Nomen's plan?"

And, slowly but surely, Hayl nods. "Terrified."

* * *

**Milo Trivil, District Six Male.**

* * *

I keep Noelle's hand tight in my own and continue to lead her through the thick forest. Seeing Sawyer's face only made Noelle cry, and really, a part of me feels both angered and saddened by that. From what I saw, Sawyer treated Noelle increasingly bad, often making her seem like a lost puppy always needing his approval. But, her tears were genuine, real, and that broke my heart. I was trying to find Aspen, Evy and Danielle. I ran the outskirts but couldn't find them. I saw Danielle's district partner dead, but that was it - my allies had vanished.

I waited and waited and then, I saw Sawyer get whacked with the machete and then the boy from One approaching Noelle.

I couldn't let it happen.

No matter what I wanted or what I thought was best, I couldn't let him so easily murder a little, innocent girl; the whole time my mind was against me. I could be like Uncle Titus. I could look after her, protect her, devour her warm body after a few seconds of taking her life. They always told me I'd be like him. They always said that, one day, Titus and me would become the same person. That cannibalism and mental disorders pass down through blood and genes.

They said I was him; reincarnated.

"Milo, are you okay?"

I realise that once again, my hand has squeezed on Noelle's too tight. I stop and release her, her hand instantly being rubbed by the other, bright pink lining her skin. Her eyes are a bit puffy and red, but when they stare at me, they look hopeful and needy. She needs me. They scream those three words at me, over and over again, whenever our eyes meet.

"I-I'm fine," I assure her. "W-We should sit down and rest."

We choose a certain root that seems unearthed and sit down. Noelle skims through the contents of our backpack, concluding that we have a small set of throwing knives, some string, a water canister that happens to be empty and a single peel of orange wrapped in a small, translucent bag. No real food.

"We could try and kill a crow?" Noelle mumbles, pointing to the sky. "I mean, there must be loads of them to actually do it. We just need one that's close by."

I acknowledge her words and nod slowly, when a small chime fills the air.

Noelle lets out a relieved sigh when the familiar, trademark Capitol white parachute begins to descend towards us. It drops down by her foot and she instantly scoops it up. She pops it open, passing me the slip as she opens the small container inside. I read over the small note carefully, understanding that it's for me.

_Your act of heroism proved to be popular. Dinner is on us tonight. -L_

"Milo, it's some soup," Noelle says, and you can almost hear the sound of her bright smile in her voice. "What did the note say? Who was it from?"

I scrunch up the paper carelessly. "It was from Wisp; for you. You pulled in some sponsors, 'Elle."

Her eyes cast downwards and a fond, appreciative smile creeps onto her face. She seems almost shocked that someone would put money on her. That only adds to the minor heartbreak. Noelle is truly one of the most kindest people you could ever meet, and because of that, she's an easy target to a cruel world. I'll never let her know that the note and sponsor money was actually for me. It would only discourage her. I get the feeling she might have given up the slightest bit of hope in surviving, and, well, that would only make things worse.

"I-I didn't think anyone would want to waste money on me."

"I told you from the start," I smile, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. "You're cute as a button with a golden heart. Who wouldn't want to see you happy?"

Noelle mumbles something in return, but I don't quite catch it. Her mood drops a little as she tilts the canister of soup up and swallows some, before passing me the rest of it. I take my share and sigh when the taste floods my tongue. I look at Noelle once more and her eyes meet mine. She's a year younger than me, but when you see her eyes and tiny stature, you'd think she's under the age limits of what the Hunger Games allow. I'll protect her. I'll make sure that she survives and returns to her family. I'll make sure of it.

And all the while, I won't fall to what everyone says. I won't become Titus. He and I are two different people, and at the end of the day, I'm a better person.

* * *

**Hacket Bruckwill, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

I should feel sorry about what I done. Any normal person would; taking a life isn't exactly easy. But, then again, the Capitol have made it very clear that they can do it without a conscience or thought, so why can't we do the same? No, because we're judged by it. Unless you're a Career, it's kind of frowned upon to take another life so willingly.

Except, when your will has been stripped by the higher power, you are no longer willing, and therefore, it should be easy.

Seeing his face in the sky was tormenting. I should feel guilty; but instead, I feel more guilty that he never got the chance to try. I didn't let him. He was just stood around, waiting idly for his allies that seemed more preoccupied. Margot, I mean, she's always been brass and she was too busy attacking someone who wasn't fighting back. Ten seemed to fight anyone that came near her whilst Eight, also dead, seemed to be running around without a thought or care.

He didn't fight back. He didn't accept his death either.

He... He wanted someone to save him. He couldn't do it on his own, and instead, wanted to play the damsel in distress and be saved.

That's why he died. Because in here, no-one can save you but yourself. Your death is your own fault. Your casualities are your own fault. Everything is down to you and you only.

I push away the next bunch of branches that fall into my vision. That's when I see it. A large, concrete wall stands clear, cemented into the ground and poking the sky so finely. I run my hand across the rough exterior, back and forth, until a pebble that is loose cuts me. Blood drips down, the same colour as my outfit. I scan around the trees near me, but none of them are strong enough to climb. There are branches low down at eye-level, yes, but too flimsy and weak to climb up. The large, thicker branches are out of reach even for the older, taller tributes like myself. There's no telling what lies behind this wall. A sense of curiosity settles in me.

I should look. I should climb.

I grab hold of the first branch, but my grip snaps it easily into two.

I swing my backpack around and grab the knife that lies inside. It stabs into the trunk and I attempt to lift myself up, once again, to no avail.

Instead, I decide to make camp here. The arena proves to be expansive despite being rounded up. I walked and walked, the pain in my legs evident and the dark shadows lining every inch of sight. I'm no doubt a few miles away from the Cornucopia, which means I'm probably either deathly close to a tribute or, like the Cornucopia, miles away from them.

I roll out a thin blanket from inside my backpack and lay down, hand still holding onto the knife.

You can't trust anyone. I don't even trust Margot and we've had sex twice now. This knife will be my protection in case someone decides to take me on.

Soon enough, sleep lulls me in.

I remember everything vividly. The way she pushed me down onto the bed. The way her eyes lit up with a sultry, defiant look. She looked both seductive and insane. There was no going back after she unhooked her top and threw it to the floor. There was no returning to district partners that only acknowledged each other when they were forced. Everything was going to change and after that night, it did.

It happened again.

I watched her climb aboard the hovercraft. I watched her in the bloodbath, unleashing the insane side I saw glimmer in her eyes that first night. It was the same Margot. The Margot I could easily have called my own but chose not too. It was a fling and nothing more, and after a few days, I'll return with a heartbeat and she'll be locked away in a coffin. I won't kill her. I doubt I could do that, and in Twelve, we at least have the honor to not turn on our own. Someone else will kill her and I won't have to worry about being the one to do it.

When I saw her run away, a part of me wanted her to be killed. To make everything easier. The other half of me wanted to run after her, push her into the trees and then rip her clothes off with my teeth so painfully slow, Margot would scream for me to hurry up. I can almost imagine it once more. The look of longing in her eyes as I worked my lips across her jawline. Her nails digging into my back. The way her hips move so fluid against min-

I feel pressure build around my chest and instantly, my eyes snap open.

A girl, face hidden by chestnut hair, leans over me.

It almost seems like a dream. Then, a flash of silver is pressed against my neck and seering pain rocks through me. My initial reaction is to throw her off, but my hands are pinned, tied tight in knots. I've always been a heavy sleeper; my biggest downfall.

"I'm sorry." the girl mumbles meekly, almost sad.

And the seering pain stretches out rapidly across my throat, the tightness strangling me until I feel my heartbeat, slowly dying, thudding against my eyes.

I'll return home in a coffin. Margot, well, I hope she doesn't. I hope she can make it. If anything, she needs too.

* * *

**Carry On by Fun.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Hacket Bruckwill, District Twelve. **

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_What is behind that wall, do you think? Who was the girl that killed Hacket? What will happen to the Careers?_**

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**So. What to discuss...**

**There isn't anything that interesting, I don't think. Oh. My new laptop for Christmas happened to have a technical malfunction and, therefore, it had to be sent back to the company so that they can either fix it or send me a new one. I managed to get this one done on my parents laptop but I can't do it again - I'll have to wait until my one comes back to me. :(**

**So, I ask that you wait patiently for another update for this and Glasshouse if you read that. My new SYOT, Wild One, will start once I have my laptop back; there are no reservations and I can't hand the form out early, so if you want to submit, you'll have to wait until I have my new laptop and the prologue has been posted.**


	10. Blood, Sweat and Tears

**Blood, Sweat and Tears.**

_But we can conquer the world, leave footprints on earth, we'll put in blood, sweat and tears._

* * *

**Twill Mousseline, District Eight Female.**

* * *

My hand instantly drops the knife, droplets of blood splashing down on the earthy soil. Twelve's body lies there, a red smile across his throat. I back up off his body, throwing myself to the ground beside him, fear and guilt swallowing me quickly. His hands are tied, bound by knots that I discovered I could do during training. He was so peacefully asleep and I caught him off-guard. I don't know whether to feel proud of myself for an act so terrible or disgusted that he didn't even get the chance to run or fight or survive.

I scramble backwards on the dirt away from him, waiting for the infamous metal claws to scoop him up.

But they don't come. Instead, the anthem blares, just like it did announcing everyone else that has died. It's almost instant; blood lolling down Twelve's neck and throat as his face jumps into the darkened sky.

Did he kill Nate? Probably not. It could have been anyone and besides the Careers, the boys from Twelve and Nine are the only physical threats.

I didn't even kill for Nate - I killed because that's what I have to do in order to go home. I shouldn't feel guilty about being selfish. Should I?

Deep, heavy breaths pass through my teeth as I lift myself off the ground, my red suit speckled with dirt. I grab the knife that lies abandoned on the ground, scoop up Twelve's knife too, collect my ropes from around his now cold wrists and swing both his backpack and mine onto one shoulder. It takes a while, but I eventually manage to leave the scene of my first kill.

I walk briskly through the forest, keeping the wall to my right. Anything could be behind it, which is obviously bad, but having one side blocked means that I only have to worry about in front of me, behind and then my left. It will narrow down on who can try and sneak up on me. Maybe Twelve had that idea, too. That would explain him camping out next to the wall. It weren't the greatest of ideas - but I can see his logic. I try to fight away the sickness and tears that begin to pepper my eyes. I actually willingly took someone's life and, right now, I feel both terrible and slightly relieved.

That isn't human.

A human should feel guilty and allow it to swallow him. But I'm not a human; I'm a tribute.

The sound of people whispering catches my ears and I freeze, body tense and heart thudding, both knives gripped in either hand. I hear some rustling and quickly push myself backwards behind a thick tree, hoping the trunk and scattered branches protects and hides me. The first blurred image to come into view is the boy from Seven, and instantly, I let my breath escape through my nose. It could have been worse - it could have been the Careers.

"And where do you think you're going?" I hear a female voice speak up.

A ghost of a smile forms on Seven's face as he turns around, a flash of strawberry blonde hair peering through the trees. His district partner, Evy, if I remember.

"I thought we'd keep moving. That was the idea, wasn't it? To keep moving without camping."

Evy clenches her jaw as the little girl from Three, wide eyed and small bodied, appears by her side. "I thought we were keeping around the area, though, to avoid Careers."

"They'll be at the Cornucopia still, bathing in the blood of the dead most likely."

"Or they could be hunting."

"That too," Seven smirks. "We'll never know, but for now, I want to keep moving. The further away from the red lights, the better."

Evy soon gives in as her district partner keeps walking, looking back to check on his two allies before disappearing through the trees. The last one, the girl from Three, stops and looks around. For a moment, she looks in my direction, and it's almost like she can actually notice me though I'm hiding. I don't know what she sees, since she sniffs from the obvious tears she's spilled and then follows both her allies. The sight of her tears and sad face lingers, though. Was she crying because they lost their ally, the boy from Six, whose clearly abandoned them? Or was she crying from the death of her district partner? I don't know; but whatever it is, it brings me to tears that silently fall. I haven't been able to cry over Nate yet. Now, I do. The boy who I rejected. For the boy who was kind to me. For the boy who, above all else, never changed. Twelve's face, eyes looking at mine as I slit his throat, also joins in. I cry for him too.

After a while, I continue to move, sliding a knife into my boot for back-up.

I want to scream - to cry and shout and everything. But I can't. I can't control my emotions, and if I allow them to control me even for a little bit, I might as well class myself as dead. Because now I've killed, there's no going back.

I'm no longer a human; I'm a tribute.

* * *

**Marlin Roth, District Four Male.**

* * *

Azolla's hand slips easily into mine as we all stand. Ajax brought back some food, a large crow he managed to kill, before Azolla easily lit a fire and cooked it for us. The whole time it happened, Cyra sat there, smug smile on, looking at Ajax and constantly making chicken movements. I don't think anyone understood - but it didn't stop Ajax from constantly growling under his breath and looking away. Since getting into the arena, some of us have changed - Cyra's attitude has increased dramatically and now, after proving to get a kill, she believes she's almighty and powerful. Ajax has toned down his attitude in response and chooses to either ignore Cyra completely or to respond with witty one-liners.

Besides that, the rest of us are the same. Lamont continues to sit on the side and watch without talking, Honor does pretty much the same, whilst Azolla hasn't left my side.

For some reason, I feel like she's scared. Scared of what? I don't know. I get that feeling and that's instantly followed by a passionate feeling of wanting to protect her. It's hard to explain, even harder to understand, but I've always been one to protect and be loyal. When my Dad died in the Games, my mother was distraught, and I became the man of the house. I made sure that she didn't wallow in missing him.

And when I win, well, I'll be able to provide more for her then she could ever imagine. I can give her a life she deserves.

"Lets go hunting," Cyra grins dark. "I want to kill some more."

"If you can manage it." Ajax says nearby in a hushed whisper.

"Excuse me?" Cyra responds.

Ajax sighs and looks up. "I said, if you can manage it. A little boy compared to a larger tribute, like him from Nine, is a huge difference. You might be able to manage it."

"I can more than manage it," Cyra smirks, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I could kill you right now if you want me too."

"Yeah? Then why don't you do it."

"Every alliance needs their token idiot, Ajax."

"That's why we're keeping you around, Cyra."

Tension is thick in the air, everyone including Lamont, looking back and forth between the two Careers from Two, waiting to see if either will be good on their word. You can visibly see Ajax's grip on his spear get harder, whilst Cyra casually rolls her scythe in her hand. Ajax is serious; Cyra isn't. In the end, Cyra laughs, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she walks away, leaving an angry and flustered Ajax in our presence.

"I'll kill her."

Honor lays a hand sympathetically on his shoulder before walking pass. Ajax then flashes a look at both me and Azolla before him and Lamont disappear after the girls.

"Something is gonna happen soon," Azolla speaks quietly, squeezing on my hand gently as if I might be worried. It warms my heart to know that in a place like this, Azolla still manages to be exactly the same as she was within the Capitol. I always feared she would change; and truth be told, I didn't want that to happen. She's Azolla, my Azolla without knowing it. "Cyra is pushing the limit too far."

"And you're somehow surprised?" I laugh as we begin walking, much slower compared to the other four. "She's been like that since day one - now, the power is getting to her head."

"If she's not careful, Ajax will just spear her in the back. Then what?"

"We get on with everything else," I shrug, not really knowing what the right response would be. "If Cyra dies, there isn't much we can do. We might as well just keep on walking and moving forward. She'd do exactly the same if any of us died soon."

Azolla nods and mumbles in response, before looking at me directly in the eye. "Do you think you'd be able to move on, say, if I died in the next day or so?"

It's a strange, morbid question that no doubt causes my face to frown. Azolla notices it and smiles sadly, slowly pushing her hand out my mine.

"I see..."

"No no," I say, gripping her hand hard. "You didn't let me answer. I don't know what I'd feel, Azolla, truth be told I don't know what I feel now."

It's all a lie. An act. There isn't any point in me telling Azolla that I'm pretty much head over heels for her, because, well, she might not reciprocate as much as I want. As much as I yearn. It sounds absolutely ridiculous, and somehow, if the Capitol could read my thoughts, they'd no doubt laugh. It'd be an embarrassment and not because I love a girl who I've barely known; but for the fact that a Career should be heartless and driven, not floundering after a girl whose feelings aren't known.

"At least you're honest," Azolla smiles softly, but it's rather forced. "I appreciate that."

"There's no point in lying," I respond lightly, hoping to push it away. Azolla still hasn't changed; but I can sense there's something else there? Her hand goes limp in mine and I let it go. She seems a bit defeated, maybe even confused, I don't know. She begins walking and my mouth moves before my brain processes anything. "You didn't answer."

She stops. "To answer, I'd have to know, and I don't."

* * *

**Margot Roybal, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

Seeing Hacket's face in the sky feels me with a bit of dread and guilt, and slowly, I slip to the ground and take a seat. Kieran seems to understand and quietly slips into the trees, leaving me to my own. I expect myself to cry or something, but no tears form, and I should realise that as much as I want to cry, as much as I should cry, I just can't. Hacket wouldn't have cried over my death; why should I for him? Only one winner after all. If it's to be me, Hacket needs to be dead, and well, I'm glad someone else has done it.

I don't think I'd enjoy taking his life. Anyone's, actually, but it has to be done.

"You finished?" I hear Kieran say, hidden behind a tree.

"How kind of you," I growl back. "You can come out."

Kieran slides just past the trunk and offers the smallest, more kindest smile I'll probably ever get from her. Kieran, I've learned, isn't made for positive, kind feelings, much like me. That's one of the many things we seem to share in common. Our allies are both dead. My district partner is now on his way back to District Twelve alongside her district partner to District Ten. I don't know the names of anyone else besides Kieran. I can't feel remorse for any of the faces in the sky because I don't know them.

Me and Kieran have no-one but each other... and, well, it's not the greatest thing when we clash constantly.

"No-one is going to blame you for crying over your district partner's death."

I scoff. "You didn't cry over yours."

"Me and Sawyer weren't as close as you and yours clearly were," Kieran sighs. "Look, we only have each other now. We might as well make the most of it as we can."

"By doing what?"

Kieran pauses for a moment, kicking away a loose stone on the ground and bounds onto the tree, ricochet into the clearing and then comes to a stop at a soft piece of mud. Kieran's eyes furrow at it's quick stopping and slowly, she moves over there. I don't see the big deal in a stone stopping because it reaches mud. But, then, I hear the distinctive cackle of a brook. Kieran seems to gasp and I'm on my feet within seconds, by her side just as quick.

The scene in front can only be described as horrible.

A small river runs through parting in the trees, almost level with the ground. It's not even man-made; probably forged from the liquid constantly running through the mud.

And yes, I say liquid, because it definitely isn't water.

Kieran bends down and places her hand into the liquid.

"It's... it's warm and thick. I-I-It's..."

"Blood," I decide, because yes, it's the same colour as your uniform, crimson red and disgusting. Kieran saying it's warm and thick clarifies that it is indeed blood. A blood river? How fitting. "Our lovely river is indeed a river of blood."

"That's disgusting," Kieran gags, whipping her hand from the water and forcefully rubbing it on her suit. "Why?"

"Maybe they want us as vampires?" I joke. "You know, make us drink the blood to quench ourselves."

My joke turns out to be more for Kieran, and her eyes go wide and horrified. I could be true. If the backpacks only contain canisters, without water, then there must have been a water source somewhere in the entire arena. Clearly this is it. People will either dehydrate or they'll drink the blood. They can't have both. It's quite sickening to think about it. Even more sickening if you want to think about if it's real blood or simply a substitute.

"I'm not drinking it," Kieran stands her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. "I refuse to drink blood goddammit!"

A small smirk crosses my lips. "Then don't. No-one's forcing you."

And just like that, something new pops up and Hacket's image is vanished from my mind almost completely. He's still there, lingering, and probably always will. But no. I won't let myself cry or get upset over something I had no control over. I want to win. I want to go home. Letting Hacket dominate me after death isn't going to happen. I look to Kieran once more and her eyes soften but keep the sense of alert; she knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"You want to go hunting."

I've learned that me and Kieran are more alike than we'd like to think. I nod slowly. "Yes. I think we don't have enough time to just sit around anymore. It's a fight against dehydration."

* * *

**Hayl Gartham, District Five Female.**

* * *

The mud goes out from underneath me, taking my foot, and as my arms wave frantically, I fall backwards... only to be caught quickly by Dagan, his large arms around my waist. I feel familiar heat creep onto my face but push it away. Dagan helps me back onto my feet, his smile now a smirk.

"Don't laugh."

"You're so... innocent," Dagan laughs. "Sorry."

A crow above squawks and Dagan's eyes turn from warm to cold, his eyes snapping upwards to the source. The large bird sits perched on a branch, staring down with beady red eyes. It flaps it's wings whilst sitting, but it never flies. Dagan growls under his breath, hands on my shoulder. He whispers something I don't quite get, but he's then leading me forward and I understand he wants away from the bird. It's squawks grow more quieter as we lead it away.

"You know, I'm hungry," Dagan says randomly as we keep moving, skipping over trunks and roots unearthed. "And thirsty."

I smile, stopping and flipping the backpack over my shoulder, digging through. We have an empty canister but a small packet of dried apples. I pop the bag open and slip one out, plopping it into Dagan's open mouth. He grins after swallowing and heat, once again, claws at my cheeks. His face turns a similar beet red and I can't help but laugh at it. Everything seems to calm and sedated, it's almost like we're outdoors in the woods or something, not an arena full of death.

"Where are we heading then?" I ask, eating my own slice of fruit.

"I'm not sure, just keep moving I guess. If we stay, we could be found more easily."

I nod in response, closing the bag and zipping the backpack up once more. Dagan grabs his pitchfork and slips the spare knife - the knife he constantly asks me to arm myself with - into his boot, a black handle standing out against the red leg. The cut on his cheeks has healed a little, my make-shift stitches keeping it tame. He smiles and ushers me forward, and before I know it, we're walking once more. My feet ache and there's a constant pain in my leg, but I keep moving, determined to please Dagan. A large concrete wall comes into view and Dagan swears under his breath.

"What?"

"That can't be good," Dagan decides. "Anything could be behind it."

"Could be something a lot more nicer?"

Dagan scoffs. "Yeah right. The Gamemakers are never nice about anything. Guaranteed it's something for the finale."

"Finale?"

"Final five or three or something. Whenever the end is just in the last few kills. Don't you know that?"

I pause and shake my head. "Didn't really want anything to do with the Games if I'm honest. Didn't bother to educate myself in past Games. I know of Zeke and Cordelia's Games because, well, they are legendary in Five since they are our only Victors. I know my cousin's Games too, but I chose not to watch it."

I can see why it's bad. Most children learn or study themselves in the basics of the Games in the case or chance they are reaped. I didn't want to. Why would you want to learn about it? I know now, but before, I wouldn't have bothered. The further I could distance myself from them, the better, and now, I'm here because of something I didn't even want to watch. From Dagan's face and his thoughts on the wall, I can tell he knows a decent amount about it.

"What else do you know?"

"Not a lot," Dagan shrugs nonchalantly. "Those crows are Mutts, which means they're controlled, right?"

"I know that," I smirk. "I mean, in general."

Dagan's face contorts in confusion and then goes down, his voice now grave. "They'll kill you if you don't play the game properly."

"Properly?"

"If you don't kill or you don't fight. I shouldn't be saying it; but it's the only way to even give yourself a chance in survival."

His shrugs, his shoulders tight and tense, as he walks towards the wall. He runs his hand lightly across it and growls in apparent annoyance. He clenches his fist and it almost looks like he's about to hit until he stops himself, sighing harshly.

"What was that?"

"We need to do more, Hayl. I don't want too and it's not fair on you... but they won't let it happen. The thing behind here? It could easily be for us unless we do something."

And just like that, what was once calm and sedated is now ruined. He's right; I'll trust him because he's more educated in the Hunger Games than I am. But how? Why is Dagan so absorbed and knows so much? I'll never know. I don't even think I want to. It'd only ruin my image of him, and right now, Dagan's all I have and all I need.

I can't ruin that.

* * *

**Azolla Midwell, District Four Female.**

* * *

Marlin decides to keep hold of my hand despite what happened a brief moment ago. He's keeping his distance, though, I can tell that much. His hand might be linked to mine but his heart definitely isn't into it. He's holding on for the sake of it, not for a want. It makes my heart sink a little but maybe that's the thing I need? Maybe I need to learn to distance myself from Marlin; he won't be around forever and the last thing I need is to fall for someone that can't stay alive with me.

Why didn't I realise this earlier?

I don't know. I got absorbed by Marlin's kind words, kindness in general and then his warm heart. Everything just engulfed me far too quickly.

I like him. I'll forever like him. But it has to stop at there. I can lose a friend and mend myself, I don't know if I could mend myself after losing someone I care a lot more than a friend.

Cyra stops, hand in the air, directing us to stop. A dark smile is plastered on her face as she tilts her head from side to side.

"Here she goes again, using her perfect sense of smell like a canine," Ajax whispers, quiet enough for Cyra and Lamont to not hear, but enough for the rest of us. Without realising it, we've already been divided. Cyra is on her own, Lamont will choose to be on his own, Ajax might pair up with Honor and then I'll be with Marlin. "Oh great Cyra, do you smell something?"

"I hear something, actually," Cyra growls. "Footsteps."

We all stop and strain our ears before a whip of bright hair runs through the trees.

"Go!" Cyra shouts.

She runs forward, everyone else following, and a shriek can be heard from the bright haired girl. She shouts something I can't quite make up, but it's clearly for someone else. Then her footsteps are joined by another pair, and then another pair, and it's easy to tell there's three of them. My heart thuds as we jump over roots and side-step through trees, all chasing after the others. Ajax pulls back his arm and throws his spear when he catches the sight of strawberry blonde hair; not the bright hair, but maybe the hair of the ally?

It doesn't hit, but someone cries out, possibly scratched.

Our running is in vain. Ajax stops to collect his spear, embedded in the trunk, and he's quickly left behind. Whatever Cyra had her eye on has disappeared in the mass of trees. She growls, and instantly, a loud, thundering scream rockets through the nearby trees. Her grin is dark and powerful, but as she looks around, she can't quite work out the source. "Everyone, split up. Someone go back and get Ajax, the poor idiot must be crying over being abandoned."

Everyone nods in response, Cyra clawing at Lamont's elbow and leading him one way. Honor sighs and motions her hand backwards, confirming she'll go find Ajax for us. I doubt he's lost, but we left him a bit back; he might walk the wrong direction unless he can hear Cyra's constant babbling and animalistic growls.

"Just us then," Marlin says quietly. "This way."

He holds his trident at a level height as he scours for the alliance we just lost. I keep my harpoon by my side, not really wanting to use it but deciding I need to look like I want to. I want to win; but I want to kill on a fair fight, not a disadvantage. As far as I know, the alliance could be lost, small, scared and without weapons. Then, a part of me wants to find them and feels defeated when Marlin looks behind some trees and doesn't find anyone. If we find them, well, Marlin might be like me and decide it's best to let them escape. If Cyra or Lamont was to find them, well, three faces in the sky tonight for sure. I say tonight, but really, only a few minutes after the deaths. We don't get a tonight because it's always dark without sun. The shadows creep across the ground so hauntingly and Marlin slowly backs up, keeping by my side.

"I'm here." he whispers kindly.

"I can tell." I whisper just as quietly, a smirk evident in my voice.

A crow squawks. I flinch, gripping my weapon tight as we descend deeper and deeper in the darkness. Everywhere seems to be different in light; some areas are lighter, some are darker, some are illuminated by the red lights or the white moon. A crow squawks and I blink hard, realising it's becoming hard to see everything. I can see in front of me and to the sides, I can make out Marlin's figure, but not that much further ahead. I don't see a tree until I'm almost on top of it.

Marlin grunts before a loud thud. "Great. I tripped. Don't worry."

I laugh a little as a crow squawks. My eyebrows furrow at that. It seems... louder. Fear takes place as Marlin goes a little too quiet.

"Marlin?"

He mumbles back in return and I'm not mistaken by the thousands of bright, beady red eyes staring at me, scattered in the trees above. Marlin must be near me since I can feel his breath ghosting over my neck. I think we've found the bird's nest.

Then, as quick as a flash, the red eyes descend downwards, a swarm of blood orbs in the darkness, chased by squawks. I feel Marlin grab my body and force me onto the floor, followed by his scream. I stand up to help, swinging my harpoon and a spare knife around, smiling to myself when it meets something solid but then crying in response when I feel toughened talons claw at my back, pushing me to the ground. I scream again and the weight is gone from my chest. I can't see. I can't see.

Then, my heart stops.

Marlin cries loud. A broken, loud, bursting cry that erupts from his throat. I can't see him but his cries don't stop, hollering to the skies, to the Gamemakers, begging them to stop the crows. His cry becomes weak, still going but much more defeated. I stagger back and forth, unable to find his figure coated by moonlight. I hear the flap of wings and the red eyes begin to disappear. Marlin cries again and I try to find him, sweeping my foot out and spraying my hands. I can feel warm, sticky blood dribbling down my back, my arms, a stinging sensation on my neck.

My foot hits something and Marlin just screams.

I bend down to his shaking form, unable to see anything. I run my hands over his body, feeling the bumps and sensing the ripped shreds of his uniform, falling at the seams. My hands reach his face and he flinches. It's warm and sticky, coated in blood probably, but I make out his lips, nose, cheeks and then I reach his eyes.

My heart thuds and my stomach boils. Instead of touching lumps where his eyes should be, I touch what I presume is his eyelid, expecting to feel his eyeball behind. It's warm, sticky, and he cries.

There's no eyeball behind; it's a hollow hole.

His other eye is exactly the same.

They clawed Marlin's eyes out, and that's when my scream, pained, joins his cries in the air.

* * *

**Danielle Rune, District Three Female.**

* * *

Aspen runs his hand tentatively over my boot, unlacing the laces. I hiss in pain and tears silently trail my face. He slips my boot off and from behind, Evy looks sickened. I don't want to look as Aspen takes my sock off; but my eyes automatically lock onto my ankle, a sickly green and yellow, a bone ghosting just underneath the flesh.

"Your ankle is broken, I think," Aspen seems pained. "I think."

"Of course it's broken!" Evy cries, holding her arm with her hand. I can see some skin between her fingers, which means she must have been hurt. "A bone wouldn't be there and we wouldn't see it if it wasn't broken!"

"Don't shout at me!" Aspen shouts back. "I-I-I'm n-not a doctor."

"Clearly!"

I squeeze my eyes shut when Aspen places my sock and boot back on, hissing through gritted teeth and allowing the tears to run freely. Everyone holds their breath when a loud, ferocious scream echoes around us. Running from the Careers done this. I trailed back from Aspen and Evy, upset and tormented by seeing the boy from Twelve crush Chip's skull. The vivid image wouldn't leave my mind. Then, I saw a glimpse of the Careers, specifically the girl from Two, scythe in hand, and I panicked. I ran and they chased. They threw a spear and we avoided it, though it must have hit Evy even lightly. Then, we were close to freedom; I didn't see the stump. I ran straight into it, tripping over it and then slamming down awkwardly. I screamed in pain and Aspen helped hobble me to safety.

"We need medicine." Aspen decides.

"Yeah, well, why don't we just go down to the drug store and collect some!"

"There's no need to argue, Evy." Aspen's voice is quiet.

I keep my eyes closed by I hear Evy or Aspen - I can't tell - moving, boots crunching maple leaves and twigs. Then, the sound of Evy crying. I force my eyes open when I see Aspen applying a bandage to Evy's wound, which proves to be a deep gash on her upper arm. I look up, my heart hammering, tears dried on my cheeks and the blur of fresh ones in my eyes, to look through the canopy, expecting to hear a cannon and then see a face. Nothing comes and the shadows begins to loom over.

"There you go, sorted," Aspen says, and I look back to see Evy holding onto the white bandages, her red suit torn open on her arm. She carelessly rips the seams and yanks the thing off, turning one side into a short top, the other still with a sleeve. Aspen crosses the small clearing, lined with the trees, and sits down by my side. "Do you want some water?"

"We haven't got any." I respond.

"I can go find some," Aspen smiles. "You might be dehydrated."

Aspen's far too kind and loyal for this alliance. Evy, constantly mean and hardened and then me, pretty much useless and now, Aspen is willing to find water for me. But then what? A broken ankle means barely being able to walk without support. I'll only drag them down.

"You're an ally, Danielle, don't think differently," Aspen says, clearly seeing my face and reading my thoughts, if I knew he could. "If you want water, I'll go get it."

I nod, running my tongue on the roof of my mouth and realising it's thick of fur. Aspen smiles and gets up, collecting the metal canister from the bag. Evy glares at him as he passes her, but he jokingly sweeps down and places a kiss in her hair, but to Evy's disgust. Aspen disappears into the darkness, leaving me and Evy. Evy looks down at me from the stump she's sat on.

"He's too nice. This thing will swallow him whole. He doesn't deserve death and he definitely doesn't deserve the life of a mentor."

Evy's words are true. It's true for all the tributes in here, including the Careers, in over their heads. The Hunger Games have never been a pleasure, only a pain. My ankle throbs in pain and I choose not to cry. No more tears. Aspen is kind but he can't manage this alliance on his own. Evy could help, but it's if she plans to or not. I need to step up. Ironically, I can't, but I must. For my alliance, I must.

If we're to survive, I need to act like a tribute, not a girl.

* * *

**Blood, Sweat and Tears by Paloma Faith.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**No deaths.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**So far, who would you like to see get further than others out of alliances? So like, the alliance of Evy, Aspen and Danielle for example, who would you want to see last the longest?**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**I know there were no deaths this chapter, but I thought it'd be a good time to introduce more of the arena, plots and the crows a bit more. Next chapter and every chapter after that will include deaths, so try not to get attached too much!**

**Also, I would suggest going back to the first chapter of this story (the prologue) because it's been updated. I've wrote and edited out the backstory to this SYOT, so you'll get a better idea of how many Victors are alive, the real thing that still includes the Victor's Purge despite no rebellion and so forth.**

**From now on, all my SYOTs will be based in what is dubbed the EsmeraldaVerse; the Games after the rebellion never went ahead. So, Wild One is the 105th and all others will continue to go upwards. Got it? :)**


	11. How To Save A Life

**How To Save A Life.**

_Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend. Somewhere along in the bitterness._

* * *

**Evy Redwood, District Seven Female.**

* * *

Without Aspen around, everything seems... funny. I can't quite place my finger on it, but knowing that he's out there, collecting water; it makes a mixture of fear and annoyance bubble in my stomach. I get that we need water, that Danielle might need liquids because of her broken ankle and the amount of tears she's silently shed, but to leave us alone is plain stupidity. If we were to get attacked, I'd have to protect myself and then Danielle, immobilized. I'd have to kill, which has never bothered me.

But if there's more than one, how does he expect me to look after myself and Danielle whilst fighting more than one person?

Aspen's kind; he's also rather stupid.

After so long, Danielle makes a weak cry. I look to her to find her eyelids slip shut, the squeak coming from her dream or nightmare. Wake up, Danielle, the nightmare is all around you, not just in your head. The darkness looms over, swallowing the area we've hid ourselves in after running from the Careers. It's a small clearing surrounded by trees on all four sides. It has two stumps and an unearthed root, hanging on the edge. The darkness, however, takes away all light from both the natural air and the moonlight showering above. Danielle's lower half is engulfed in the shadows, only her bright hair and face on show.

We've hidden well.

But for how long?

Everyone knows that, over the last few years, Esmeralda Snow has a habit of killing off tributes that no longer entertain her. This is her third year, naturally, but the last two years have flown by rather swiftly than previous Games. Maple's Games, for example, was the burning forest so famous for housing my brother alongside Honor's sister and Ajax's brother - Aspen filled me in on their names - and it only lasted but a week.

I couldn't even tell how many days have gone by since the bloodbath. The darkness and no sun means it's hard to tell the time. The fact that the anthem and announcement of deaths, like previous Games, usually happens at night, precisely before midnight, whereas this year, it's but ten minutes after the cannon of said tribute. Since the bloodbath, there has been one death. Seven in total. Danielle's scream was a few minutes, maybe ten or fifteen, before another voice joined the air.

They might become a cannon and then a face. That would make eight. Not bad.

It's always the final ten when it gets interesting. That's when tributes decide to kill quicker, run faster and fight harder. Final ten means Gamemakers push the tributes even further, weeding out the weak. Poor Danielle, in her state, she'll be easily disposed of before then. Aspen too, probably. The Capitol like underdogs; Esmeralda really doesn't. At the end of the day, it's her Games, not the audience.

Danielle stirs and I force myself up, arm stinging still.

Ajax does have a good shot, I must admit. Credit where credit is due.

I place my hand on Dani's forehead, the beads of sweat forming into my skin. The pain must have made her delirious. Aspen needs to bring water back soon and some medicine needs to arrive. Like right. Something tells me, sadly, that Danielle doesn't have many sponsors. Aspen and me, might, but one winner means no teams and of course, Maple or Willow aren't going to pay for medicine that isn't for me or Aspen. It's too obvious. Danielle's will have to, and as far as I know, neither have the price to do it. District Three has never done well, come to think of it. They have those two Victors, but it took the guy, Bolt I think, just under a decade to bring another Victor. And, soon, it'll be another decade before they get the chance again. With Danielle's district partner already dead and Danielle's ankle broken, making her pretty much useless, there isn't much chance she's returning.

I snap myself out of my tirade and scramble through the backpack, collecting a cloth. I have no water, but maybe I can just rest it there? So I do. It's not much, but it's the best I can do. I look to Danielle's shivering and shaking form once more before slumping to the ground, defeated. Danielle is as good as gone and Aspen's off on an adventure for water.

Fucking Milo abandoning us. He better be alright otherwise I'll kill him myself.

A crow overhead squawks. Another one follows. When I look up, I'm not surprised to find about four, staring at us with cocked heads.

Aspen better hurry up too, otherwise him and Milo, always buddy-buddy with each other, will be in the ground with each other.

* * *

**Cyra Matrons, District Two Female.**

* * *

Honor still sprints ahead, determined. Lamont is on her tail followed by Ajax, me jogging nonchalantly behind them all. Why rush? If someone is down, let them be. I meet their gathered form in the darkness, unable to see much.

"Over here!" I hear Azolla shout.

"Yeah, real clever." I shake my head.

I can hear a bunch of footsteps as I'm stood on the spot. I hear them rustling and dragging something - obviously a body - around, twigs and leaves breaking under their weight. I know someone is stood next to me and I can only guess that it's either Lamont or Ajax. Lamont is emotionless and Ajax, well, he has the whole Training Center rules labelled into his conscious and one of them is; to never, ever help another Career out. If they're dead, it's just another one down.

"Drag him to the light!" Honor shouts, and I'm shocked, because I thought Honor had one face and one emotion, neither sympathetic looking.

I step out the way as someone slams into me, not apologising. Nobody respects me enough and yet, I'm their leader and they should. Morons. I look back to the way we run in, seeing a clear line of moonlit rays tracing the ground. That's when the shadows form into my "allies" and they place a body on the floor, which turns out to be Marlin. I step forward alongside my other heartless Career to find it as Lamont rather than Ajax.

So, Ajax broke the rules too. The trainees are in for some tough love because of us. Worked to the bone like we were when a Two tribute's acts were against the Training Center. District Two has six Victors still alive, the rest perished before the last Quarter Quell. Two of our Victors; Evander and Signus, won before the Quarter Quell and the ever infamous Victor's Purge. Both claimed they had no idea and wore dark smiles whilst doing so, though it's often thought they slipped some names of others involved, saving their lives in response. It's the legend of them both. They train the older years and both trained me and Ajax before we volunteered. After that, four more Victors reigned over the twenty-four years after.

For District Two, those standards are claimed as weak.

When one of our tributes die in the bloodbath - rare but possible - all trainees are forced to do more hours and harder practice, screams of anger in our ears as we swipe and destroy a dummy. When they break an infamous, unspoken rule, the trainees are pushed, many breaking, being starved or punished for being weak.

It's the life we chose for joining the Training Center. Our latest Victor, Brick Salazar, won just over ten years ago, the Eighty-Seventh Games. Ever since then, we've lost, and the number of trainees we have had dropped dramatically, whilst our tradition of burning the fallen and collecting their ashes has grown in response.

Marlin cries into thin air and Azolla pushes everyone out of her way, bending over by a tree and heaving heavily. The way she gags and chokes is enough to peak my interest. I step forward, slowly, to the image of Marlin's skin slipping past his uniform that's been torn to shreds. Blood is mixing with the red of his suit and deep claw marks are clear. His face is the most interesting, though, and I have to admit, is quite sickening. His eyes are surrounded by blood and torn, too.

"Open your eyes, Marlin." Honor asks.

His eyelids slide open, but rather than seeing his funny sea green eyes, I see blackened holes. The tendons that attach to an eyeball are hanging loose, the item missing. I feel acid splash against my throat and the rest of the Careers gag in response, all but Lamont, naturally.

"H-H-His eyes..." Azolla chokes from the side. "C-Crows..."

"They tore his eyes out?!" Ajax exclaims, looking positively pale.

Azolla nods weakly before she vomits once more. Her face is fine, pale and sickly looking, but she's not hurt. A deep scratch is on her neck and it's bleeding heavily, painting her skin, but she's fine. She's really a Career then. Marlin got his eyes ripped from his head and she's fine, which means she didn't help out, which means she's just as heartless as the rest of us. Brilliant.

Marlin cries still, his lips quivering and whimpering, eyelids clenching over his eye sockets. He claws the ground underneath, nails turning bloody as he digs at a stone frantically.

"He's as good as dead," Lamont says, perfectly fine, from my side. The only one of us to not feel sickened by the sight. "Might as well kill him and put him out of his misery."

Azolla snaps up from vomiting and stares at him straight. "We are not killing Marlin!"

"There's not much he can do without eyes, Azolla," Honor mumbles evenly, shaking a little, but that's probably from disgust. "It's probably better for him."

Marlin screams again, lifting his hand to find his face, scratching his bloodied fingers at his skin, drawing more blood. He's tearing himself apart, but Azolla whispers something in his ears. He doesn't respond, he just cries and screams and rips the flesh from his skin. He's been driven mad by the attack and the loss of his eyes. He won't even beg for his life because he knows that he wants it to end. Lamont decides he needs to be dead but doesn't do anything about it. I step forward, raising my scythe, and as Azolla cries for me not to, I slam it down into his chest. A cannon sounds almost instantly. His hands drop from his face and his lips stop moving.

"M-M-Ma-"

"He's gone, Azolla," I say, pulling my scythe from Marlin's limp body and watching the blood drip down hauntingly; drip, drip, drip. "Get over it. That's the way it is."

I look to Ajax and Honor, both looking far too human for my liking, before my eyes scan over Azolla's distraught face and then onto Lamont, the only one I can count on.

"I'm leaving." Honor says quietly.

"Go then."

She walks away, sword in hand, and that's when I see Ajax go with her, a disgusted look in his eye at me; not for Marlin, but just because he hates me. Azolla seems shaken but she follows as well, staggering around and tripping on the rocks, except, she doesn't follow Ajax and Honor. She goes a different way, a feral look in her eyes. I turn to Lamont, his machete held idly down the side of his hands. I nod and he nods.

"Guess it's over, Lamont. Have fun."

And he, too, disappears into the trees, leaving me alone with Marlin's dead body, and I can't fight away the fact that as much as I'm awesome and capable, I don't like the fact I've been left on my own. I just might not be able to do it on my own.

* * *

**Noelle Alcott, District Six Female.**

* * *

I keep my eyes glued to the sky as the face of the male from District Four fills it. Milo makes a disgruntled sound in his sleep, but I allow him too. Since saving me, Milo has done nothing but make sure I'm fed and safe, finding a new spot for us that's shrouded pretty well; he's tired and he deserves it.

His body is curled into a tight ball on the forest floor, constantly shaking and his lips quivering.

He looks ill; but it's a nightmare. After spending some nights in Milo's bed for comfort and safety, I've learned that Milo suffers from nightmares frequently; almost every night. He mumbles and thrashes around, apparently running and crying for someone not to get him. Titus constantly comes up, and despite knowing that's his uncle, that's as far as it goes. I didn't want to question Milo on it simply because if it affects him this much in sleep, in person it could be worse. His uncle must have died years back, much like my aunt, so I've never heard of him. Titus Trivil? Nope. Never been said as far as I've heard of.

But as quick as I decide that, I realise that Anya mentioned it before. Titus Trivil was a cannibal, if I remember. That's what she said. She even taunted this one boy by calling his name repeatedly and poking fun at being his rel-

A sinking feeling causes my stomach to drop. I remember the day, in the middle of Six, hanging around and taunting anyone who walked by. A boy with curly hair walked by and I took no notice, turning around and looking away in the fear he might be really hurt by the demeaning words spitting from Anya's mouth like acid. I never realised it was Milo. It must have been. Anya mentioned after that about him; she didn't know him but she knew his Games, the way he turned cannibal, wiped out by the Gamemakers and leaving a family behind, ridiculed and shunned for his actions.

People said Titus' family were all morphling addicts and that's why Titus just went berserk.

Milo mumbles something again, lips quivering once more. I stare at his eyes and watch them scrunch up in fear. He cries and cries, shaking and vibrating against the ground. He repeats the same thing over and over again. Titus. Titus. Titus. Is he really affected by the bullying? Of course he is. Anyone would be. I've just been lucky, hidden away by being accepted. I was protected at the cost of my brother hating me and having no true friends, only false ones and the rest of the gang, nobodies and sheep, liking me for being one of them and not by my personality.

I place my hand gently on his vibrating shoulder.

"Milo... Milo... It's okay."

When he's awake, he looks after me. When he's asleep, I have to look after him. It's an interesting alliance and a part of me is glad that he found me in the end. I wasn't willing to die - but what could I do against a Career who just murdered my ally? I couldn't do nothing, could I? Milo, only a year older, defended and saved me. I owe him my life.

The trees grow above, billowing and poking the darkness. I catch the sight of a red light creeping in, slipping in through the shadows.

I hear a small jingle, like before, and I see the white parachute drifting down, hitting my boot. I quickly scoop the canister up and pop it open, holding out the slip. I tilt it until light catches it faintly.

_Give him this. It might calm him -W._

Wisp. The sight of his words manage to put a smile on my face. He's always been far too kind to be a Victor. Lorcan, on the other hand, is both cocky and confident, a contrast to Wisp's older self and maturity. Wisp won many years ago, and when all the Victors were sweeped and killed -like they teach you in school - Wisp was spared. We're taught in school about the failed rebellion and the Victor's Purge, and in turn, Wisp became a legend for being one of the surviving ten. Nobody knows why he was saved; all the rumours differentiate. My group, we, we used to throw rocks at his house in the Victor's Village to scare his wife and children, even him. Anya said he was a coward for not joining the failed rebellion. So many other Victors from Six died, whereas Wisp was spared, and Anya believes it is because he's a coward who didn't want to take part in it. They taunted him on the streets. But, like with Milo, I hid in the background and looked away, ashamed of my "friends" but too scared to speak out.

The canister contains a small, yellow pill, which I slip pass Milo's quivering lips. He swallows on instinct and his body calms down.

Both Milo and Wisp, crucial to my survival, were bullied and tormented by a group of children.

It really does show that I'm just like them. I knew they taunted Wisp and then Milo - though I didn't know his name back then - yet, I hid and looked away, wanting the popularity and friends I thought I deserved. I'm no better than them, really, am I? I may not have spat the acidic words, but I didn't stop them or walk away, either.

The silence and the minor crow squawking settles the silence, and slowly, I get onto the ground and curl my body next to Milo's.

He saved me when he could be a lot better off with his alliance. A little girl over three teenagers; I don't whether Milo's heart is large or his brain is lacking in survival.

Either way, I'm thankful for his heroic efforts.

* * *

**Honor Elliot, District One Female.**

* * *

"I can't believe she did that..." I mumble, Ajax nodding by my side.

"Yeah, well, I can. Cyra was trained to be that way."

"So was I, and I don't think I could have killed someone so openly vulnerable."

"Better person than her then." Ajax responds gruffly, and by the way he says it, I know there's more.

"What?"

"Nothing," Ajax becomes defensive, his voice trembling and getting louder. I'm almost confused; Ajax and his voice trembling? But, Ajax must read my mind, because he stops. "Look, I get that we're bonded because of our siblings and that, but, one winner, Honor. If the Careers are split for true, then, we'll stick together until necessary."

"Obviously."

Ajax scoffs. "Yeah, obviously. Further away from Cyra, the better."

"Thought you wanted to kill her?"

"That too," Ajax scoffs again. "Right now, though, I just want to distance myself from all that. Cyra, Marlin, Lamont, even Azolla."

"But not me?" I smirk without even thinking it. It's so different to me, smirking and showing a facial expression, it... makes me happy.

"Like I said, we're bonded."

I nod slowly as Ajax slips pass some trees, spear locked in his hand. I presume we're heading back to the Cornucopia, since after the whole Career break-up, we no longer have food. Sure, Ajax caught the crow and Azolla cooked it, but Cyra has the backpack full of survival gear. Besides. I'm almost sure none of the other Careers - maybe Ajax, even though he never mentioned it - have realised that the boy from Five was only playing dead, or, he could be bleeding out slowly and painfully. I don't know. But, if I know what Ajax is doing, we'll soon find out.

It's funny how me and Ajax have bonded. Both our siblings, lost to the same Games, and now, ironically or poetically or whatever you want to call it, has brought me and Ajax together. I glance up at his towering frame as he slaps some flimsy branches out the way. Compared to the other Careers, Ajax has been the only one I've remotely linked too. Azolla and Marlin were nice, and Lamont was quiet enough not to be a bother, but me and Ajax connected on a deeper level, and like he said, we're kinda bonded now. We both volunteered for this; but slowly, I can see the toll in Ajax's eyes. He killed the boy from Eight and watched Marlin get killed by Cyra, but now, he looks a little tormented by the sights. I'm not sure. Every time I feel like I know Ajax, through and through, he switches the opposite direction. Just when I think he's a cold-hearted Career, he shows warmth. When I think he shows warmth, he acts cold. It's like he knows what I do, how I do it, and how to confuse me.

Ajax's body suddenly goes tense. I stop, right behind his back, and grip my sword. His spear moves to the fighting position, ready to be thrown, and I hear the crunch of twigs being crushed underneath a boot. It's coming from behind me, and slowly, Ajax turns around and nudges me to his side. I smile at the gesture; willingly to protect me.

I see a flash of hair, bright and blonde, before they're covered by the trees.

"We're being hunted." Ajax whispers hoarsely.

A flash of hair again. I'd be lying if I didn't feel my heart stop, just for a moment. I've always been volatile and rash; now, I feel like those traits are smothered by the general fear the arena radiates.

"When I say it, duck."

"What?"

"When I say it, duck."

"What?"

"Duck!" Ajax shouts, and this time, I throw myself to the floor.

The whiz of something metal flies over my head, skimming the top of my hair, and I can feel Ajax launching himself to the side rather gracefully. I look up and see his teeth gritted, jaw clenched, eyes wide and accusing. He launches his spear in the direction the weapon came from, and I hear a sickening squelch. I look properly to see Lamont, eyes flared in neutral disgust, staggering towards us, Ajax's spear embedded through his stomach. The sight is gruesome; blood dribbles down Lamont's chin, and with weak steps, he comes towards us, still determined. It's almost un-human, and then I remember than Lamont is more monster than human. His foot gives way and he succumbs to the attack. His body crumples with a thud and a cannon blares.

"Thanks." I say quietly, taking Ajax's hand that he shoves in my face to help me up.

"Don't mention it," Ajax says kindly, a shift in his mood. "Honestly. Don't. Bonded and all that."

"He hunted us moments after we broke up?" I ask, perplexed.

"Obviously your district partner was as evil, and stupid, as we all thought. Cyra probably sent him after us."

I nod and pick my sword back up. Ajax goes over and rips his spear from Lamont's luke-warm body harshly, not caring for the spilt blood or horrid wound. He smiles at me, a contained, hurt smile, and I smile back just the same. He's way in over his head obviously. Just like me. Maybe he doesn't even want to be here?

I've always been good at reading people and their weaknesses. Ajax... I can't every single time. Just when I think I know his plan, his emotions, he shifts, like an enigma, keeping one step ahead of me.

I've found my match; and I'm glad he's my ally. My only ally.

* * *

**Nomen Clature, District Five Male.**

* * *

I can't help but smile as the Career from One, blonde hair and darkened eyes, pops up into the sky and then fades away. Two Careers dead within a few minutes of each other? The Career alliance obviously hasn't lasted as long as any of them hoped for. Then again, thinking back to training, they looked pretty dysfunctional. The pair who looked truly content with things were the pair from Four, and well, he's dead and she must be livid.

I make sure to tuck my legs tight underneath me, sitting perfectly on the platform that once had a tribute, scared with shaky knees. The three pieces of wood provide enough security from anyone else, and if someone was to come into the realm of the great Nomen Clature, then I'll know before they notice me. I slip the canister open - that was sent to me by Cordelia - and eat the warm soup. I glance at the crumple piece of paper she sent me, congratulating me on my plan.

Of course I mentioned it to Cordelia before I left. I had to. Cordelia, of all people, will actually understand my plan and my reasoning for it. Zeke is an idiot and Hayl, well, she's technically competition.

A small, hoarse laugh bubbles and escapes my throat, cutting the silence. It's funny, actually, because before I was reaped, I hated Cordelia with a burning passion. Hated her, everything she stood for, the way she wanted to take her life after beating so many children in the running. She got her chance at freedom and she wanted to blow it. So, after the chariots and some training, I thought I'd question her on it. I mean, Cordelia Ethon is one of the famous ten spared, so naturally, she's a legend herself in District Five.

I wanted to learn why she wasn't purged. I always assumed that, like some of the other more famous ones, that she wasn't involved, no proof could be held against her, or she traded names away in an act of selfish survival. Instead, I learned that the third Quarter Quell - Victors sent back in - broke her. Her fellow mentor, Cameron Flinch, was chosen as girl. I remember watching a clip of her Games. Cable Watts, another fellow mentor, Cameron's mentor during her Games and Cordelia's lover, was chosen as male. The two closest people to her, submitted into another game of violence and death. That was the driving reason for her to join the rebellion, much like Cable and Cameron had done. Halfway through the Games, when the Victor's Purge began, Cordelia was taken to the Capitol. She showed me the scars. The scars from being bathed in water, electrocuted, poked with a fire poker and submitted to Tracker Jacker poison. She never once cracked; and I admired her ever since.

A strong woman, whom I thought was always a coward, turned out to be braver than most. My thoughts on Cordelia shifted easily.

She said that President Snow kept her alive, amongst others, for punishment. Death was something Cordelia didn't mind; so why give her something that she remotely wanted? No, because that's not the Capitol way. The Capitol way is punishing forever more. Cordelia is being forced to mentor until her heart stops from old age, not by a suicide attempt.

In response, I shared her my plan. My plan of brilliance; a way to change history once more. She liked. Heck, she loved it, because it was the right thing to do.

I started the plan and now, she's encouraging me. Alongside my soup is a very expensive electrical current, the size of my hand, and I know what to do with it. Poor Hayl. Her sponsor money probably helped pay for this. It'll be all too easy. I look up into the sky, wondering if Cordelia is studying me from her prison now? She knows and Zeke knows. She likes it and he's against it. But, who to listen to; a woman, bold and brave, fighting against the odds or a boy, giving in and becoming what they want?

I stand up, placing the canister down. I gather my wires and the small little electrical current that came with the soup. Poor Hayl. Her sponsor money no doubt helped pay for this. I jog down the hill and around the side, connecting the dots together. I cover my tracks with the dirt, hiding everything, connecting the final piece that I hold in my hands.

I smile and go back to my seat.

There's a plaque in District Five, labelled with the names of our Victors since the Hunger Games began. A way to rally up emotional support for the tragedies. There was a few names, not many, but a few. Cordelia Ethon is one of them, her fellow mentors now deceased were, too. So were some mentors purged. Now, all but two names have been forcibly scribbled out by Peacekeepers, ordered by the Capitol. Those two names are Cordelia and Zeke's, the rest are just lines.

Now, it's a game of patience. More deaths, the final five, and then this will all happen. I'll change history. I'll do something the rebellion failed to do. I'll honor Pilus' death no matter what. I'll make myself, Cordelia, future generations all proud.

I'll do it. Of course I will. I'm Nomen Clature, legend in the waiting, another name to add to that plaque.

* * *

**Aspen Berkley, District Seven Male.**

* * *

I shield my eyes as I reach the scattered field where the bloodbath happened. I can see the stretches of wood that showered us, the way one has exploded and the two either side are broken, too. I keep my feet quiet and attempt to sneak past. Careers could easily be there. Of course they are. Over the years, besides hunting, it's rare that any Careers actually decide to leave the bounty of food and safety just to kill. Nature and other tributes kill just as easily.

God, now I sound like the head trainer back in the Capitol, telling us that nature kills just as easily.

I sigh and keep moving, dipping back into the trees.

The metal canister in my hand rattles, a self-purifier on the inside, connected to the lid. It's empty; bone-dry, and poor Danielle could really do with some drink. The shadows don't provide much help when walking, but I manage to skip over roots and avoid stumps. The beauty about this arena is, it is almost like the forests and woods back in Seven. I guess that's why it's easier for me to avoid and see stumps and roots in the ever-growing darkness compared to Danielle, used to city life and whatever Three looks like. I hear the babble of a nearby lake, and instantly, my feet move quicker. I can't see much - the moonlight barely providing enough source of light to see - but I manage to make out the faint glow of a water's rippled edge, illuminated by moonlight. I move forward, and without hesitation, shove the canister into the lake.

The warm water lashes against my skin. It's only then do I realise that it's pretty thick for water.

When I study the water closely, I can see that it's red. My eyes widen in horror and puzzlement. Is it... Is it blood? I stand over, pouring the contents of our purified water into my hands. It's a little less thick, more like a liquid now, but is still the colour red. My eyes trace where the small river is coming from, disappearing into the trees. My feet move involuntarily and I begin to follow the path the river is lining. I test the liquid in the canister by taking a gulp. It makes me want to gag - but it manages to quench my thirst for a tad moment.

Then, all of a sudden - the more I walk into the darkness, the less I can see - the river just disappears. Not literally, because that's stupid, but it ascends into complete shadows. I can still hear it but the shadows are thick and ominous, never letting a single slip of light in. It's the furthest away from the Cornucopia and the moon overhead that, but also far away from where light can touch it. I could go in and look; but I have no idea what's up there?

Stupidity takes over and I decide to look.

I strain my eyes and keep moving alongside the embankment, watching as the last piece of light illuminating the ground vanishes. I'm complete darkness and silence, and I hold my breath just to hear my heart beat thudding loudly. Then, to my surprise, I hit a wall. Something solid and grainy. I blindly touch it with my hands and find the exterior rough and calloused. The river, seemingly, just disappears straight into it. I bend over and blindly pat the ground, hitting liquid and then hitting the wall. Yep. It kinda just blends straight into the wall. My eyebrows knit together as I stand up.

That's when I hear footsteps.

They won't see me in the dark. Of course they won't see me in the dark.

I hear two voices, female I think, around me. They talk about hunting, so maybe two of the female Careers?

I slowly push myself against the wall and slide along, ignoring the way the wall rips my back with loose pebbles. After a while, the footsteps and voices decrease, and I sigh in relief.

"Someone's out here!" one of them shouts.

I hold my breath. Then, I see a figure forming, just barely, their shadowy form mixing with the branches. Another one joins them. Definitely female by the longer, wavy hair. I still don't know who and I still can't make out any clothing or facial expressions. All I can tell is the voices and the shadowy figures that look definitely human. They won't see me. They won't see me.

"Over there, against the wall!" the same voice shouts again.

They come charging. I go running, listening to a loose pebble rip the seam of my outfit open. My feet pound against the ground as I blindly go the way I think Danielle and Evy are. Their pounding feet join mine.

Oh crap. What's that saying; about curiosity killed the cat? Yep. Sums up this moment right here.

* * *

**How To Save A Life by The Fray.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Marlin Roth, District Four.**

**Lamont Seifert, District One.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Out of the Careers, who do you expect to last the longest now that there is only four and Careers are split? Any deaths you were surprised at?**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**This chapter was more of a gateway to upcoming chapters. I'm sorry for that! I thought, well, it was about time that a Career or two fell. You know, not all six can go that far, and it was time. Marlin was pretty much as good as dead (and yes, the crows clawed his eyeballs out...), and Lamont has always been more background than up-front.**

**I also used this chapter as a little explanation as to what mentors were part of the famous ten... You know the three canon characters, alongside older mentors like Cordelia, Wisp, Ida from Eleven, Buck from Nine and three unknown Career mentors, two from Two and one from One, heh. Yeah.**

**Also, in my mind, because the failed rebellion and everything for EsmeraldaVerse, the Games have become increasing popular with the Capitol due to almost being wiped out... So more Capitolites are involved and sponsoring more, kay? That's my excuse for a lot of sponsors and such. :p**


	12. Kingdom Come

**Kingdom Come.**

_Don't you fret, my dear, it'll all be over soon._

* * *

**Dagan Grove, District Nine Male.**

* * *

"Dagan, you're going to get hurt!"

I smile at the concern in Hayl's voice, but easily wrap my hand around the next branch above and hoist myself upwards, rather awkwardly, but I manage to get up. The lower branches on this tree was thin, flimsy and snapped under a little pressure. Higher up, out of reach of the tributes and myself, were thicker and bulkier branches. This tree was chosen because it was not meant to be climbed. The thin branches mean no footing, no help, and the bigger branches are out of reach, not meant to be used. It's obviously a Gamemaker ploy. Why don't they want tributes to climb them?

That's why I must do it. But, compared to other tributes - and I'm not bragging - I found a way to bend the rules. Two trees are really close together, and so, you put your foot on either one and climb that way, like you would between two walls. Only so far to get to the thicker branches and then, viola, sorted. I need to know what is behind the wall. It's dangerous, a trick, and I need to stay one step ahead of everyone else. Except Hayl, obviously, because she's going as far as I do.

"Dagan, look, it's not worth it!"

I smirk. "It is! It'll help!"

All the cameras are probably on me. Good, let them, I'll show them that they can't make all tributes do what they want. That I'm not going to be what they want me to be.

"I'm serious! They might do something, like you said they would!"

She truly is innocent. The Gamemakers are cruel, but not stupid. Each kill by them has to look efficient and natural, not forced. If they struck me by lightning? The Capitol would go into an outrage, and not because of me, but because the idiotic audience actually likes this as a fair show, not one that shows favouritsm. I'm not teaching Hayl anymore about the Hunger Games, though. As much as she should know, I don't want to taint her mind with the awful truth that yes, the whole of the Capitol are fucking monsters.

I place my foot in the crack of the trunk. I grab the next branch and hoist myself up again, ignoring the slight burning pain in my legs or the way the fresh air whips against the cut on my cheek. I look towards the wall, not surprised that I'm still not high enough. Down below, it doesn't look that tall, but I guess it's like an optical illusion or whatever. The next branch, however, cracks. My heart stops as a few splinters fall. Don't break. Don't break.

It's like the Gamemakers can hear me, because the branch breaks. My hand swings down to my side, causing my body to unbalance, but I manage to stay steady until the branch my foot is on cracks too. My whole body feels light as I fall, smacking my back and then my chest, my arm and my head, as I fall and smash into other branches. Hayl's scream whips into the air alongside the brisk wind as I slam, hard, face first into the ground. I hear a sickening crack. I don't cry out, though, or feel pain, but I instantly recognise Hayl's hands roaming my body. She rolls me over and I breathe a sigh a relief.

"You're an idiot, I told you to not go up there."

"I'm sorry," I smirk again. "It didn't work."

"I can see that. Does anything hurt?"

"My lips do, if that's any indication?"

Hayl blushes but smacks my chest, rather hard. I wince and she leans over, placing a small, chaste kiss to my cheek. "That's all you're getting."

"I'll live with it then," I say, getting up, wondering about the sickening crunch I heard. "Did you hear something break?"

"Maybe? That's why I asked if you were hurt. It wasn't you?"

"Nope," I frown. "Might be behind that wall."

"What would make that kind of noise though by you falling?"

"I don't know. I really don't. But I don't want to find out either. Maybe we should move."

"Like I suggested?" Hayl smirks, grabbing the backpack from the floor. "But yeah we should."

Hayl quickly walks in front, passing a knife to me as we walk by. Our other one is in the backpack. I slip it silently into my boot and follow her. I trace my hands over my face, wondering if my nose or something is broken, and then I jiggle my arms and legs, wondering if they're broken. Nothing is broken. It must have been behind the wall. Do I want to know? Yeah, but not at the cost of Hayl's safety. We slowly move our way through the trees, blending in and out, until we reach what must be the roads that contain the lampposts. Red light bathes the ground kindly. I look up at the six poles, finding two are red, four are white. That means, in this section, two out of six tributes are dead. Hayl looks at me over her shoulder before she crosses the pavement and straight into the woods once more, me in tow, willingly.

But I can't shake the feeling of what is behind that wall. I need to know. I really do. The noise plays in my head over and over again. The Gamemakers don't want anyone to find out; because, lets face it, they so broke the branch to keep me from going higher. But I'll find out.

I won't bend to anyone's rules. If they want me to behave, they'll have to kill me.

* * *

**Ajax Rogue, District Two Male.**

* * *

I can instantly see the smear of red lights cutting through the darkness and the mass of trees. I smile to myself, spear still in hand, and continue walking. Honor catches up to my side. I can feel the warmth from her body radiating against me. It's comforting, actually, to know you have one person in a place like this you can trust. I could never, ever, ever trust Cyra as far as I could throw her, and Azolla and Marlin were okay, but they were already a twosome and that was all they were ever going to be. Lamont never fazed me, the subtle little psychopath. Honor nudges me playfully, causing me to stumble and not see the tree that seems to emerge from the darkness and smack me in the face.

Honor laughs, a chirpy, sweet laugh, so unlike her. It brings a smile to my face; but doesn't she realise where she is?

Honor does confuse me. She has a mask on pretty tight, showing barely any emotion even though she's capable of it, and can switch just out of it for a split second, almost unnoticeable, and then click, her mask is secure once more. I've learned that about Honor over the last few days of meeting her and actually acknowledging her presence more and more.

Because yes, at the beginning, I didn't care for anyone. Cyra was annoying - though she grew worse - whilst my "allies" would forever be false and just one of the other numbers. But then I noticed her score, beating out both Cyra and Azolla, and it made me curious. Her interview and the connection of our siblings also intensified my curiosity. I kept myself wary, watching her and trying to understand what she was like. Compared to Marlin's cheerful attitude or Cyra's arrogance, Honor's personality never did shine so outwardly. Then, that night at the camp, where she discussed our siblings...

I can safely say, from that moment on, I cared for Honor, only a little bit; which itself grew over time, once the pack had burst and I found myself following her away from the others.

I could have gone on my own and managed, couldn't I? But why would I when I know that not only does Honor pique my curiosity, but I can trust her above everyone else? It's simple really. Alone and on constant guard, or having a friend and allowing it to slip occasionally... an idiot would make the wrong choice. But I'm not an idiot and neither is Honor. She's my friend?

"Thanks for that." I say evenly.

"Sorry," Honor says, and I can almost feel the smirk on her face in her voice. "I actually didn't mean to."

"Better not had. Otherwise there will be consequences."

Honor laughs, chirpy but weak. "Yeah, okay Ajax."

We continue to walk across the ground, every so often losing our footing on some unearthed roots and stumbling, only to catch ourselves, or each other. We touch the edge of the red light that paints the ground, making the cracks in the concrete much darker and wider. Only two of the lights are red, whilst the other four are white. But the red overpowers the white, and whilst it's still a light, the red makes things much more darkened and ominous

"I reckon, by the final three or whatever, this whole arena will mainly be darkness." I say to Honor's illuminated figure.

She nods. "I guess so. Looks creepy."

I nod too, looking at Honor from the corner of my eye and watching the ghost of a smile on her face vanish so slowly, it's like she wants to keep smiling. I whip my head either side, acknowledging Honor's sword, before I sprint across the gap, watching the familiar huts around the plates come and disappear again. Honor looks astonished, but runs across almost straight after me. A crow flies overhead, large black wings cutting the darkened sky, and I see the flash of red beady eyes narrowing in on me. I hold Honor back, my arm held in front of her body, as I walk the crow descend into the mass of towering trees.

It feels like it's chasing us. Or maybe watching us.

Or I could be paranoid.

"You're being paranoid," Honor says, mirroring my thoughts in words. "They haven't attacked us yet."

"But they attacked Marlin and he was a lot more nicer than we are."

Honor nods in agreement at that. "More than one must have attacked him, coming from the amount of cuts on his body."

"Still. I don't trust those things whatsoever."

Honor laughs and gently grazes her hand against mine. "Well, we'll go the other way. Come on, you big baby."

And, with care, Honor grabs my wrist and begins to walk again, guiding me away from the descending, evil crow. I smile at the touch.

Friend. Honor is my friend. She's my friend. Yet, I can't fight away the blossoming of content that sits in my stomach. This is so much better than the lousy Career pack.

* * *

**Azolla Midwell, District Four Female.**

* * *

After walking for so long, I finally fall to the floor. The harpoon carelessly falls out my hand and I allow myself to cry. I shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't have let myself fall - even a little - for Marlin. It's a simple task to not fall for someone. I should have guarded myself, my heart, much more harder. But I didn't. Marlin was like water, seeping through the cracks despite a great defense. I smile at the memory of him and me holding hands during the chariots to show a state of unity between us.

He thought I was cute. A ditzy, blonde girl who seemed in over her head.

Maybe I am?

I don't know. I don't know anymore. I came in here to avenge Coral in some twisted way, and now, I feel like I've let everybody down. How? I don't know again, I just know that the sinking feeling in my stomach is now constant and won't go away. And before Marlin's death - or his attack - it wasn't. Maybe I miss him? I close my eyes, just to try and see if it is me missing me... and yes, the sea-green eyes of his stare through my soul and I snap my eyes open, allowing the tears to build once more.

I stand up and grab the harpoon, holding it out in front of me, just so I can see the way my hand shakes. I need to get over him. Do I sound harsh? Probably. But we stated this would happen. Only one can live and twenty-three must perish. Me and Marlin knew that when we got to that stage. We discussed it just moments before he was attacked - would I miss him if he was gone? Would I move on?

Yes, Marlin, I would move on. Not because I want to, but because I have to.

I make a beeline for some trees and continue to walk as far away from the dead body of Marlin as possible. I even try to rid my thoughts of him, and like the water analogy, he just keeps coming back. His body, eyes missing and uniform torn. Laid on the ground, begging weakly, ripping his skin and scratching stones. Cyra lifting her scythe and letting it find Marlin's chest, cutting off his heartbeat to replace it with an ominous cannon.

Cyra.

The name is enough to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. If anything, I should want revenge against her. Marlin wasn't all hopeless - Marlin was still a human. We could have worked it out, or better yet, Marlin should have been allowed to decide whether we kill him or not. It sounds stupid, but Cyra was in no place to make that decision. It wasn't up to her; someone who only ever used Marlin to ensure her safety within a Career alliance that hated her. I skip past the trees and angrily swipe at the weaker branches, hearing them crumble. I'm so blocked by thoughts and furthering the distance, I don't even see the flash of a red suit due to the darkness. Instead, my body slams into theirs, quite hard, and I fall on my back.

I hear another thud and know it's another tribute. I scramble blindly for my fallen harpoon.

The other tribute makes a weak cry, before a shocking pain is pushed into my stomach. I fall, lungs without air, and I try to recapture my stolen breath. The tribute kicks me again, before their hands hit the ground too, digging away at dampened dirt. Through a streak of moonlight at the right time, I can tell the tribute is a female. Which females are left?

Honor and Cyra. The girl from Three and her ally from Seven. The little girl from Six and the older one from Five. The allies from Ten and Twelve.

A flash of dark hair is also illuminated.

The girl from Eight.

I lash out, sweeping my leg out and waiting to hit something solid. I do, and another shriek follows, bellowing into the darkness. I manage to curl my fingers around the harpoon in time before I hear a scurry of footsteps. As I stand, I know she's managed to escape me. It doesn't matter; I'm not out to hunt or kill a tribute. I followed the Careers like I was expected to do. Marlin died, and now all ties to the other three are severed. For now, I need some survival gear. I can cook and start a fire - dangerous but needed - and I could try and kill a nasty crow. I spin around in the darkness and strain my eyes.

The Cornucopia could be anywhere. I make a guess - the opposite direction to where I remember Eight coming from - and begin walking again. The less eventful my time in here is, the better.

Everyone is looking to be the Victor, everyone wants to survive, but some are more unlucky than others.

* * *

**Danielle Rune, District Three Female.**

* * *

I blink a few times, closely remembering to think about where I was last. I remember falling, breaking my ankle, Aspen dragging me the rest of the way and lying me on the ground. I remember Evy and Aspen arguing, and then Aspen disappearing to fetch me water. I remember Evy hissing over the injury one of the Careers gave her, and then, I drifted off... I look up, running my hands up and down my body to make sure I can feel things.

The shadows from the ground begin to extend, like black tendrils, clawing at the trees and smothering them. My heart stops as it touches the sky, turning it black also. Slowly, I edge my foot backwards, like you would escaping prey... but it doesn't move. My eyes snap downwards to watch the ground ripple and shake, opening up like a predator's mouth and swallowing my boot. I panic and my heart hammers. The shadows begin to creep forward, snaking across the floor and running over stones and the stumps. I look down and then up, watching beads of sweat roll down my nose. That's when Evy and Aspen appear. I scream for them, but no sound comes out. It's confusing and the shadows chase them, whilst they do nothing but move. I scream again and again. Why won't they run? Why can't they hear me?

The blackness reaches Aspen first, snaking around him like a boa constrictor. His face stays frozen, a smile in place, as another tendril tightens around his throat, turning his skin blue. And then, quick as a flash, it whips him into the eternal darkness. Evy's next, and by the time I look at her, her eyes are bloodshot and straining against the snake of black wrapped around her throat. Her face isn't like Aspen's; it's not a smile, but rather a snarl.

And like Aspen, she gets snatched into the darkness.

I panic and I scream. A scream without any voice. They creep, dragging their tendril claws along the ground, covering everything in sight. My other foot soon falls into the ground, and as the shadows touch my ankle playfully, I squeeze my eyes shut.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

My eyes snap open again, and despite sweat pouring into my eyes, I see the black sky and the trees, no longer eaten by darkness. Evy's face comes into view, pale and sickly, and she stares down at me.

"You had a nightmare." she states bluntly.

"W-Where's Aspen?" I choke out, emotionally.

"Not back yet."

"Ho-ow long has h-he b-"

"A while now," Evy replies blunt once more. "About an hour or so. The boys from One and Four are dead, though, so he can't be doing so bad."

Evy goes back down to sit on her stump and as I lock my eyes back on the sky - out of a mixture of pain and confusion - I see two shiny, red eyes looking down, tilting from side to side. It squawks, confirming my beliefs that it's a crow. I try to look at Evy from my side, but I only catch a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair rather than her whole being. I sigh and close my eyes again, raising a hand weakly to wipe out the sweat, trying my best to ignore and fight the droning, throbbing sensation that ripples through my leg. The pain caused me to pass out; how much longer can I last?

Almost on cue, the trees begin to rustle and I see Evy stand up, a knife gripped in her hands. I hear the faint thudding on footsteps and a panicked voice.

"Evy! Danielle!"

Aspen!

He comes barreling through the trees, sweat pouring from his hair and a few cuts on his cheek, probably from the branches whipping his face as he ran. I steady myself up, alert, sitting upwards to face him. I can't walk or stad; but I can still sit and watch. I'm not utterly useless. Evy runs at him, alarmed, and slaps him squarely across the face.

"Don't you ever leave like that again! You hear me? Don't!"

He holds his bruised cheek and stumbles over his words, before finally pointing behind him. "I'm being chased, but I think I lost them. There was no need to slap me!"

"Every need to slap you, you idiot!"

His eyes flare in fright, but he calmly slips past her side and walks over to me. I try to plaster on the kindest, most painless smile I can find, just to make him not feel bad since Evy slapped him. He hands me the canister gently, but as I look inside, I can see it's red. Not water? He shakes his head and stands back up. I balance out the canister in my hand before deciding to just sneakily place it on the ground by my side. Another squawk fills the air.

"Who chased you, Aspen?" Evy asks, flustered and frustrated.

"Two girls. I don't know wh-"

I hear the whizz of something metal, carving the air, before a thud in the tree nearest me. Aspen spins around, arms flailing, whilst Evy staggers back, knife raised and ready. A shadowy figure emerges from the trees, proving to be the girl from Twelve, accompanied by another shadow, the girl from Ten. Twelve wears a devious smirk, the spear embedded in the tree near us clearly her's. Ten looks more uncertain, but she doesn't stop holding the knife, ready to either throw or attack. They eye each of us up, one by one, and Evy and Aspen do the same. Aspen slowly bends down and picks up a branch, not helpful, but the best he's got.

"Them," Aspen deadpans. "They chased me."

* * *

**Kieran DeLuca, District Ten Female.**

* * *

Margot definitely doesn't look too thrilled anymore. I let my eyes skip over Margot, just for a second, before I lock it back on the pair from Seven. When he chased him, I kept telling her over and over to throw her spear. Catch him before he gets away. Gets back to his allies. But he was ducking and dodging, swirving and running through the trees like a monkey rather than a human. He is from District Seven, though. Probably spent most of his childhood swinging from vines. She couldn't get a clear shot at him, and now, we have to deal with his alliance. Not the perfect situation.

My eyes find the girl from Three, sat on the floor, but she doesn't look too capable. Her eyes are wide and pained, hair wet and stuck to her forehead.

A squawk from a crow kills the silence.

"If you go, we'll spare y-you," the boy from Seven says. "Both of you."

His district partner only clenches her teeth in obvious anger. "What he said."

It's only then do I realise that Margot's weapon, her only weapon, is stuck in the tree behind the Seven's. Margot can't kill them if she wanted to, and we can't escape, because that means going all the way back to the Cornucopia to collect another spear for her to possibly lose once more. No. We need this one. I hold the knife steady. It's not appropriate, but maybe we can do this? I look to Margot and nod slowly. Seven slowly come together, ready to unite.

But I throw my knife.

It's not a throwing knife, but a proper knife, and it flies lamely between the pair, causing both to jump on either side. I charge forward and kick the boy in the stomach, knocking him to the ground, whilst Margot grapples the girl. Three looks petrified as I near her, but rather than hit her, I yank the spear from the trunk and hold it tight. The boy claws the ground to try and grab my knife, but I move forward and stamp on the hand, fingers barely curling my knife. He cries and lets it go, and I scoop it up without thinking. Margot manages to overpower the girl and forces her to the floor. I throw the spear at Margot and she catches it, grinning in response.

"Sorry. But, I think we're in control now," Margot smiles, kinda dark, and I'm surprised since I never thought Margot could be like that. A bitch, yes, but evil, no. "How about you hand over the backpack and supplies?"

The girl looks beyond pissed as she grabs the handle of the orange backpack and launches it through the air at us. It lands just a few inches from our feet. Another squawk. Margot scoffs as she grabs the bag, looking up. I follow her eyes when I see her mouth agape a little. Seven, rather than taking advantage, also look up, and even Three does, too. Crows line every single branch up in the trees, filling the air with dark squawks and black feathers, blood eyes piercing shadows. It's rather light in their camp, so I'm not surprised I can make out a few of their figures perfectly. I'd rather I didn't see them, to be honest.

One, only a few branches above our heads, flaps it's wings. It's beak opens up, flashing tiny, razor teeth, before it swoops down.

Like a domino effect, all the birds scoop down in a giant, black tsunami, washing over everything in sight. Someone cries out, and instantly, I'm raising my knife in the air and carving anything. Sometimes, I hit skin and bone and a crow cries in pain, sometimes, I hear Margot cackle and then cry after. I hear a small, terrified voice cry out, followed by the boy and what I presume to be the girl from Seven. Talons claw into my back and scratch. They get my neck, my throat, my cheek and forehead. Blood gushes down over one of my eyes, blinding me. I stagger back, tripping on - what I guess would be a root - hitting the ground hard. I scramble for the trees, away from the danger. I try to wipe away the blood, but I just can't. It's flowing fast. I press my hand down on it and strain my good, visible eye. I watch the black tornado of feathers and talons whip around at a frightening speed at the other tributes. Margot tries to defend herself, and I watch a specific crow launch a bite into her thigh. She stabs it and it falls to the ground, dead, hissing through her teeth the entire time.

The pair from Seven are fighting off crows that seem to swoop and fly in every direction. One lands on the ground - it's head level with the boy's lower back, proving they are large - before it sinks it's teeth into the skin behind his knee, producing blood that smears it's beak. It skips around, and two more land by it's side. My heart thuds when I realise that like me, the girl from Three is on the edge, still half covered in shadows, away from the birds. They taunt her, tilting their heads playfully, baring teeth. I should help. I should help.

She screams loudly, but her voice is smothered by everyone else crying in pain or anger or whatever.

One flies directly for Three's face, and I watch, horrified, as tiny teeth clamp onto her cheek. She cries as blood spills on either side of it's feathery beak. She swipes air with her hands, lifting only one of her legs to fight it away. Another one targets the moving leg, clamping on her ankle. She cries again. Acid rises in my throat. The swarm of feathers continue to rip everyone else, cutting them and swiping at them, drawing blood that you can't see, whilst three target the girl from Three. The final bird squawks, and out of nowhere, a few more ascend from the darkness and join in. They each find skin on the girl and bite, chew, rip away. Blood pools on the ground, forming a puddle around her body, but she doesn't fight back. Her hands, swiping and fighting, begin to go limp. Her only moving leg has already been clamped by one of the crows.

She cries weakly, this time, as a small river of blood trickles along the edge of the battlefield. I squeeze my eyes shut and bury myself into the shadows, hoping to avoid it all. Her scream stays strong though, and despite everyone else crying out and the flap of wings and the snap of beaks and metal carving air, I manage to find only her voice.

I hear a squawk and some cries. Then, a flurry of flaps. I peel my eyes open to see that the crows have vanished. Margot lays in a heap, nearby, dozens of scratches and cuts on her face. I hear a scream that pierces the air the moment the silence has settled.

Margot and me look over to the scene. The boy from Seven lays on the floor, holding his cheek that's been ripped open, blood gushing out. The girl is holding her knife proudly, but staring at the girl from Three... My heart stops when instead of seeing pale features, blonde hair and terrified eyes, I see nothing more than raw skin and flesh, bloodied and ripped, making the girl look nothing more than a hunk of raw meat in red, ripped clothing.

She was flayed alive by the crows.

Her lips - what's left of them - quivers. Her hand falls lamely to the ground and a cannon sounds. I feel my whole body sink in disgust. I didn't help her. But, we're not suppose to help other tributes, are we? Those are the unmoral rules a future Victor should live by.

The girl from Seven spins around, angered beyond belief, raising the knife in the air.

The fight has only begun, apparently, as the knife flies from her hand so easily towards us.

* * *

**Kingdom Come by The Civil Wars.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Danielle Rune, District Three.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**To Danielle's submitter, Ace, I'm truly sorry. Danielle couldn't do much after the ankle and the crows were too much. She was a great, humble character whilst she lasted, but it wouldn't have been realistic. She had a good run though, lasting longer than two Careers and a tough competitor!**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**At this very point, before more development happens and from what you've learned, who would you like to see win?**_

_**Anymore guesses on the wall or Nomen's plan? ;p**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**Smaller chapters, I'm afraid. From six to five POVs. It'll keep narrowing down as we lose more and more tributes.**

**Next chapter should be a big one - two to three deaths should be expected. Nothing everyone is safe!**

**Um. Yeah. Nothing else to say - I hope you're enjoying the story and my writing doesn't suck ;p**

**For anyone who doesn't understand Danielle's death, the crows ripped all of her skin off... they tore at her until she looked nothing more than a slab of raw, pink meat. ;|**


	13. Black Chandelier

**Black Chandelier.**

_We're always running scared but holding knives._

* * *

**Aspen Berkley, District Seven Male.**

* * *

A cannon sounds, ringing in my ears.

The knife darts through the air at the girl from Twelve. She doesn't seem too phased - almost robotic - and jumps to the side. The knife, surprisingly, carves into the tree much like the spear did. Twelve tuts, and her ally, Ten, stands by her side, also injured. Above her eyebrow, a large, jagged cut is made, staining the skin underneath from the blood. I look to Twelve and then Evy, before Danielle's mangled body. I hold back a choked cry, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to gag. The smell fuses the air, making everything seem so toxic. Worse of all, just from a glimpse, I can still see the terror in her eyes.

They murdered her. Why? Why would the Gamemakers attack when a fight was guaranteed? I'll never understand. I don't even want to understand. I move my hand away from my cheek, not surprised to find it painted red. From the corner of my eye, I can make the shape of some skin - from my cheek no doubt - hanging off like puppet on strings. I carefully grab it, and yank, hissing as I rip my own flesh apart. I quickly drop it, disgusted, but not before seeing how large. Wind whips against the wound, making my eyes water.

"So how is this going down then?" Twelve asks casually, her face ripped red and her skin a tender pink.

Evy growls. "You can leave, if you know what's good for you."

"I don't think I'll be taking advice from you," Twelve seems uninterested, eyes focusing on me. "You okay over there?"

She seems so mean. I remember watching her in the training, how calm and flustered she looked, rare moments of anger. I saw them, of course, but it was still rare. It's almost like she's allowed the Games to consume her so early on. I nod and clench my fists. I don't particular want to hit a girl; but that option has since long disappeared.

"That's okay then, we should at least make this as fair as possible. Want your knife back?"

"Oh, look at you being all respectable and crap." Evy jibes in return.

Twelve smirks and retrieves the knife from the tree, throwing it across the gap. I'm so confused by this girl. She seems angry and rash, maybe even a little insane, but now she's on about fair fights and helping out opponents? Definitely not what I expected from her. She's kinda like an enigma, shifting all the damn time. She carelessly throws the knife, watching it sink into the mud. A few dead crows lay on the ground, black feathers lining the dirt. The scene seems almost... disturbing, and not to mention Danielle behind us. The thought of her - even trying to joke about it - makes me feel both nauseous and ashamed. We were so busy protecting ourselves, we forgot that Danielle was defenseless. And she died as disgusting as possible.

The most innocent of us all; died the most horrible.

Evy grabs the knife and stands back. I look around, managing to find my abandoned stick...

"Okay, not exactly fair, but lets go," Twelve calls out. "One, two, th-"

Her spear leaves her hand before she finishes the number. How crafty of her. It whizzes through the air, and I throw myself to the ground when I notice the arrowhead aiming for my chest. The thud and whip of wind on my cheek takes my breath away, and a kick is delivered into my stomach. I topple over as Ten boots me again, a mix of confusion and determination in her face. Not as much of a monster as her ally. I manage to squirm and avoid the next kick, as her boot crunches the ground. I clamber up, whipping out my hand. It collides with her cheek, and I instantly feel guilty as her head flies to the side from impact. I hear a scream, turn, and watch as Evy and Twelve grapple, fists wrapped around each other's hair.

The fight has distracted me, and I don't see Ten pick up her knife. She watches my face for some sign as she twirls the knife.

"I'm sorry." she mumbles, barely audible.

She slices with the knife, and I jump back to avoid. She continues the motion, carving air, watching me suck in my stomach and try to avoid the deadly silver. My leg hits something squishy, and almost gag when I remember that Danielle is behind me. Ten swipes again, and I fall over Danielle's extended leg. I hit the floor hard once more, face first this time. I hear my nose crack from the fall, but no sticky, water kinda feeling which might mean no blood? I don't know. I roll over and find Ten's boot near my face and then onto my neck.

This is it, isn't it?

I feel... both scared and happy. Scared, because death is something new and foreign, much like the arena, and that's why I'm happy. Ten lifts me up and I find myself not fighting as much as I can. Only one can win, Evy has that place secured, and either way, my death would be at the hands of someone, and I'd rather a nobody than Evy or even Milo.

Ten holds me around, locking her arm around my chest and pressing the knife to my throat. I try to smile for when Evy will look at me. It's forced, but it'll do. Smile. Smile because that's something they can never take away from you. That's what my father told me in the Justice Building. Smile, because they can't steal it.

I close my eyes, a cold breath over my ears. It sends shivers down my spine, but I try to keep that grin in tact. If not for me, then for Evy.

"I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

* * *

**Margot Roybal, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

I watch as Seven thrusts into me hard, causing me to stagger back. A smirk is quick to find home on her face, and after looking behind, I mirror the action. I point behind her, and she turns. I can see the way her face drops at the sight of Kieran holding her district partner hostage, knife pressed to his throat. Kieran leans forward and whispers something as the boy's eyes close, a smile on his face. The knife whips across his throat in a swift movement, leaving a red smile that cries blood down his throat.

Seven screams and Kieran lets him go, his body crumpling to the floor. It takes a few seconds, but a cannon sounds, confirming both of her allies have been murdered in a short span of each other. It's almost sad, and for some reason, I can empathise. We lost Chip and then Nate, one after the other. Our alliance crumbled after that, and now, me and Kieran are barely holding it up by small strings. Kieran stares blankly at the void between us and Seven falls to the floor, deflated.

For some reason, this didn't feel as good as I thought it would be.

Right now, I feel like I'm on edge, balancing between the two lesser evils; kill or be killed. One way I'm going to tip. One way, I'm going to break. I feel happy one second and then angry at the next. My mind tells me to hunt and kill, and then, it tells me to remember the fact that I'm not a monster and that I shouldn't be acting like a wretched Career.

Seven's body stops convulsing with tears, and she sits up on her knees. Her back is to me, but Kieran's face contorts into worry. Quick as a flash, Seven launches through the air at Kieran. Her knife is still gripped in her hand, and Kieran has her one. I will my body to move forward, but it doesn't.

Seven swipes at Kieran, who dodges, only receiving a minor cut to the cheek. Kieran kicks out and catches Seven in the thigh, sending her sprawling. She seems to cry, both anguished and angry, before rolling over and switching attacks. I don't even really recall her charging towards me until I feel her hand trying to clamp around my throat. I manage to knee her in the stomach, but my kick is visibly not as strong as what it could be. Kieran runs and grabs Seven by the hair, whipping her to the ground in one, swift movement. There's a horrid crunch as Seven goes limp.

Kieran's heavy breath cuts the air and we both stare at the body. I watch her chest, for any sign of movement, but it stays remotely still.

"I-Is she de-"

Kieran's words are cut when, with the knife, Seven jolts upwards and stabs Kieran in the thigh. Kieran cries and clamps a hand over the open wound that pours blood. Again, I will my body to move, when it just won't. Seven takes advantage of the situation and easily knocks Kieran to the floor, sending her knife across the damaged ground. I hold my breath when she turns around. I can't move. Why can't I move? Seven slaps me across the face, but I can't bring myself to fight back. Why? Why is this happening now?

Because after balancing for so long, I've fallen. Fallen which side? I can't even tell, but my body knows, and it won't react.

Seven slaps me again, her breath ragged and hard and Kieran crying in the background, adding music to the short breaths that Seven exhales into the air as her hand whips across my face another time. I close my eyes, and rather than take another slap, I drop to my knees.

Kill or be killed, Margot. You have to make a decision. I'm quick, fast, elbowing Seven in the back of her knee the moment I feel my own touching mud. She stumbles forward, over me, and I send a closed fist into her lower gut. She chokes, I look at Kieran, and with a strained nod, I know my answer. I know which side I've fallen. I throw Seven off me carelessly, watching her body land on the ground, defeated once more. She curls herself into a ball, a shell of the girl that was angry and fighting back only moments ago. She, too, has fallen from the swaying edge. I must kill, she must be killed.

I grab the spear from the ground and raise it above her side. She doesn't look, bury her face into her hands, and I hesitate, just for a moment, before driving it down swiftly.

There's a cry, a squirt of blood that shoots like a geyser, followed by the ending tune of a cannon. She gave up. Like that, she gave. She was angry and defensive with her allies alive. The girl died, and she grew more angry. Her district partner died, and she lost all hope. The fight in her extinguished when she realised she'd be alone for good.

I look to Kieran, sat up on the floor, still holding her leg. I mindlessly grab the discarded backpack and pull out a piece of cloth. It's a little damp; perfect for soaking up blood, hopefully, I don't know, I'm no doctor. I bend over and place it over Kieran's hole, listening to her hiss as I wrap it tight.

"We killed them. All of them." Kieran says hollow.

"The crows killed the girl from Three, not us," I reply, just as withdrawn and emotionless. "We just stopped District Seven from having the chance of a Victor."

Kieran nods in agreement. I glance around at the mess, sickened by the sight of three murdered children, laying on the dirty, blood soaked ground that's topped with black feathers, like some murderous cupcake. One girl flayed alive. One boy with a sliced throat. One girl with a spear in her side. Death. There's death all around me. Is this what Hacket saw before he died? Death of another? Well, he did kill Chip. He watched his eyes drain of colour, so he knew this feeling right now. The feeling of your soul slowly cracking in two.

"Can you stand?" I ask Kieran.

She shakes her head. "I'll try, though, just help me up."

I do, but Kieran struggles to keep weight on it. She can stand, just not move as fluently as I need her to. My mind processes the thoughts rather swiftly, and I already know what to say before it leaves my lips.

"I guess it's over. Halfway now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm going, Kieran. I can't be here and you're injured. I'm sorry, but it's everyone for themselves."

Kieran doesn't seem so shocked by my decision, and nods solemnly as I help her back to the floor, collecting my spear and splitting the items between us. Did she know I'd abandon her all along? Am I really that crafty?

Maybe I am, but as I walk through the trees, I realise that being crafty makes a survivor, and I am that.

* * *

**Milo Trivil, District Six Male.**

* * *

_I try to run, but he keeps coming. I turn around, and he's there. I hide behind a tree, and he becomes it. Wherever I go, wherever I look, all I can see is Uncle Titus, teeth bared and containing chunks of what I can only guess is human flesh. Saliva drools down his chin - followed by bloody veins, swirling out between his teeth like worms - of his latest victim. Then, his face morphs, becoming younger and hair sprouting curls and it's me, it's me, I'm him and he's me and I just want to scream. Scream and cry._

I awake with a scream, finding Noelle's small, petite body next to mine. I manage to scare her awake, too, and she jumps to her knees with a fright, clutching her heart.

"Milo! Are you okay?!"

Deep heavy breaths. Breathe, Milo, breathe. I nod, shaking, and Noelle links her tiny hand into my own one. She tries to squeeze mine, bringing a smile to my face because my hand is much larger than hers. I try to comfort her by squeezing instead, and Noelle lets out a shaky laugh. It's cut off by the anthem, though, and I gaze to the sky to see who died. I should ask how many cannons, but when the first face to appear is Danielle, my stomach sinks.

She's followed by Aspen and Evy; my entire, former alliance wiped out. Maybe they ran into Careers? I don't know, but I don't feel as bad as I should probably do. I did abandon them in favour of looking after Noelle, and if anything, I could have been another face if I had stayed.

"You really scared me then Milo." Noelle mentions after the night disappears. She says it quietly, wary of the fact that my alliance just died.

"I'm sorry," I apologise. "I just... I had a bad dream."

"Didn't the tablet work?"

"What tablet?"

Noelle frowns and collects the slip that sits neatly inside the canister. She hands it to me, because yes, it mentions that Wisp sent her a pill to help me cope with my nightmares. Obviously, sponsors seem to take pity on my crisis. How touching of them. Yet, it seems almost confusing... since when did Wisp know about my nightmares? 'It will calm him', how did he know I need calming? I understand that I may have looked like I was squirming or having a nightmare - since Lucius always said he watched me - but the way it is worded almost seems like Wisp knows my history concerning nightmares and Titus. My name is known around the district, too, but that still shouldn't make it obvious. I don't know; something doesn't feel right, and if I did take that pill, it didn't help, it only intensified the nightmare.

"Yeah, okay, I guess it worked then," I decide, squinting my eyes when I feel a stream of sun on me. But, then, there isn't sun, so why am I squinting? "But sorry for scaring you, Noelle."

"It's okay, honestly," Noelle says, a little disturbed, as she stands. She collects another pill and neatly places it in my hand, curling my fingers shut. "I just was worried for you, that's all."

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

I can't help but feel bad, once more, as the lie disappears from my lips. That's twice now. I'm lying to someone whose hopelessly put their full trust into me. I feel disgusted in myself. I touch my forehead, wiping away the droplets of sweat. All I can picture is the veins dropping from Uncle Titus' mouth, peaking through his teeth. I close my eyes to rid of it, only to be able to picture him crunching down on one, blood popping out and squirting into the air; the blood of a human. I even remember the way he devoured his district partner - he speared her and then dragged her deceased body back to a cave, like a rabid animal. He munched on her raw flesh, made a fire and then proceeded to cook it. The girl's family, the Montelle's, have never liked us for Titus' acts. My mother was bullied as she grew up. She eventually married, despite everything, and then had Lucius, me and finally, Aurelia. She soaked her mind in morphling and my father slowly grew accustomed to the way life would be. Lucius practically kept the family from falling apart.

He skipped bullying, and I faced it. Lucius might have been Titus' nephew like me, but he was still athletic, reasonably popular and good-looking. I, on the other hand, was geeky and shy due to it all. Aurelia, well, she's the golden girl, living a life like Lucius did. Both escaped what I constantly face.

I bitterly laugh, causing Noelle to look at me funny. I smile it away, but I can't hide the bitter resentment. I'm already referring to myself in the past tense. I already know I won't live; let the cannibal's nephew survive? Yeah, sure, that would cause a field day. I wouldn't be surprised if my name was the only name within the glass bowl of death.

"We should start moving," I say out the blue, watching Noelle grab the two canisters we've collected and the items inside. "I don't feel safe staying here."

"Why? This place is pro-"

"Noelle I said we're going and that's final!"

I wince when I see her eyes brim with tears. "I-I-I'm s-sorry."

She shakes her head quickly, a few strays tears sliding down. She quickly gathers up all our belongings and rubs the dirt with her foot, to clear footsteps away. She doesn't look me in the eyes the entire time, keeping her back to me before turning, head low, and proceeding to walk in front of me. I instantly berate myself for being how Sawyer treated her. But, Noelle is Noelle, and that's being loyal despite the ally's attitude. Maybe she feels like she can do no better? I squint once more, a dull thudding behind my eyes. I open my palm, staring contentedly at the small yellow pill that practically cries my name. I dry-swallow it, coughing at the end.

He'll be back. He'll always be back.

Sooner or later, I'll have to leave Noelle; for as long as it gets worse, Noelle will never be safe in my presence.

* * *

**Cyra Matrons, District Two Female.**

* * *

I stop by the tree, pressing my palm to it and using my other hand to try and see. The faint smell of metallic blood hits my nose and causes me to gag. Yep, another dead body. I'm not surprised; the competition is at halfway by now. A smile cracks on my face at the mere memory of Lamont. Oh, how stupid was he, believing me with a simple nod. I learned that Lamont had a disconnected relationship with Honor compared to mine and Ajax's hatred and Four's apparent love. It was far too easy to realise he'd go and attack Honor and Ajax.

Two Careers already dead. Me, Honor, Azolla and Ajax. Huh. All the females are still alive - that usually never happens. Honor is more skilled than me and Azolla, and Azolla now has the whole you-killed-my-future-boyfriend shtick with her. Oh, not to forget Ajax's wanting of my blood spilt. So, basically, the remaining strong competitors all want me dead more than anything. Just peachy. I scramble blinding, kicking with my feet, till I hear a sickening squish.

I pull my foot away, not surprised to find it a bit more heavy. I swipe it in the air to clean it and, yep, this is the body.

I strain my eyes to make out blunt, distorted features, but I know it's Lamont, obviously. The light hair pierces the darkness just a tad, so that makes it more easier for me. But he's not decomposing like I thought he might have been; maybe the tracker contains something that stops our bodies rotting? It makes sense. Who would want to watch bodies decomposing, rotting and darkening, if they are now nothing but added accessories to make the arena realistic?

Switching my scythe to my better hand, I continue forward. Lamont was killed by either Honor or Ajax, I know that much. Which means they are nearby.

I don't feel safe or secure on my own, and I know better than anyone else that my chances have decreased since the Career split. Being the less skilled of us all, I relied on them. But, they walked, I didn't force them, but I didn't stop them. I shot myself in the foot for being too arrogant; but, it's not my fault they all decided to act like spoilt, nasty brats, particularly Ajax.

Ugh, the thought of him makes my mouth taste funny.

I guess I have nothing better to do then to follow them - I mean, if I can stalk them, I might be able to kill one without the other knowing. I would find Azolla, but she's long gone, and probably already insane. I might not be as skilled as the others, but I still am better than half of the remaining tributes. I can still do this; I can still kill.

My foot snags on a piece of root, and I stumble forward, only hitting another and losing complete footing. I slam into the ground with a grunt, losing my scythe that slides into the shadows.

"Fuck it." I grunt, digging my hands into the soft mud and pushing myself upwards.

Without my alliance, I'm struggling. I'd never admit it to anyone, not even out loud, but I do need them. Not Ajax, not really Honor, but at the very least Azolla. She could make a fire and she could cook. She might be able to catch some birds, since, you know, fishing must be in her blood. She hates me, but maybe I can make it work. Maybe I'm just playing this wrong; rather than hunting, I should be searching. Rather than planning to kill either Ajax or Honor, I should be trying to recruit Azolla. Us two, together, might be able to take them both out - and Azolla might be too broken to fight back against me, especially after I manage to persuade that she'll return to Marlin and her beloved sister. She'd be so fragile, I can easily manipulate her.

Why didn't I think of this before?

I pat the ground and touch some metal, finding the handle of my scythe and dragging it forward. I stand up properly, arms away from my body and swinging wildly, making sure to not make that same mistake again.

Azolla will be the reason I survive and win this. Yes. I'll use her and then drop her last minute, claiming my victory.

And no-one will ever have to know. Because Cyra Matrons still doesn't need anyone.

* * *

**Twill Mousseline, District Eight Female.**

* * *

I should have killed her. I wanted to kill her. And yet, I ran. I ran like the wounded animal I feel I am. So monstrous for taking a life and then thinking of taking another. She didn't pose a threat; a Career, perhaps, but she had never showed any problems against me. Compared to the girl from Two who went around, stalking the competition in training, the rest of the Careers seemed content in keeping to themselves. The girl from Four - who only lost her district partner a few hours before - seemed like me; a wounded person running from the sights they've seen.

I'll never, ever be able to erase the memory of the boy from Twelve's eyes staring at me, accusingly, spitting fire. He watched me as I dragged a knife across this throat for my own survive.

Am I that horrid?

Am I that much of a desperate person, an evil person, killing an innocent man, and then thinking of killing another?

No, I would like to think I'm not, and yet, my soul seems to disagree; the many shattered part scattered around my body, protesting against the moral crimes I've committed. I was angry. No, that's a lie. I wasn't angry, I was desperate. Desperate of not being allowed to return home. Desperate of a fear of being murdered by another, so I killed instead. I'll never be able to justify what I did, but then again, I couldn't justify my other actions.

Back in District Eight, when I broke, I was a menace. I attacked and injured others, just to ease the constant pressure encasing my skull. One incident I'll never be able to forget. One night, I left my house, just after my mother and step-father had fell asleep. No-one was home; one brother was dead and my other sister had moved on with life to a new home. I was left alone, to a mother who rarely left the bed and a step-father who seemed intent of pushing each and everyone away from the home, keeping my mother to himself. I walked the streets of Eight, concrete lit by moonlight. I found a woman, definitely not a teenager, who emerged from the tavern.

She was intoxicated; shouting and hurling abuse at me as I walked by, clearing my head. I snapped. I was innocent, targeted by someone, much like I did when murdering Twelve. Somehow, anger had gave me strength, and I managed to force her onto her knees. She continued the abuse, and her bottle of whiskey laid nearby. I grabbed it, slamming it down on the top of her skull. Her body fell and went limp, blood seeping onto the ground. She didn't die; but it was good enough to scare her into leaving the house.

People went around and searched for the criminal, and no-one expected a little girl to be the cause, since I was only fifteen at the time.

That was the start of a slippery slope. More crimes. I began to target people, like a hunter, waiting for someone to pick a fight so I could release my anger. Anger at what? My brother's cruel death. My mother's withdrawal. My sister's abandonment. My step-father's lack of empathy towards my family. My birth father's early abandonment. I had a lot going on; thus, the pressure on my skull.

Now, I feel like I'm going back. Going back to the darkness that was my past. Allowing it to smother my actions, thoughts, emotions; ripping apart my soul and tearing my sanity to shreds.

I stop, realising how much I'm shaking. I crouch down to the floor and bury my knees under my chin. I breathe heavily, trying to focus on the better things that happened; the thoughts of my older brother sister, Harlas and Sash, playing with me whilst mother cooked food. My sister's engagement announcement. Meeting my best friend and saviour, Kimberlee. Tears flood from my eyes. How many times have I cried now? I've lost count. Too many. Far too many. I twiddle the knife tucked in my boot, allowing the metal to graze my uniform but never cut.

My family lost one child, I can't let them lose another.

Harlas didn't even get a fair shot; reaped at thirteen, six years ago, and killed in the bloodbath. By a tribute? No. He stumbled across a river and fell in. An outdoor playground of traps. A cage encased him, drowning him and not letting him catch a breath. They never bothered to recollect the remains; the sealife had devoured, and when he came home in the coffin, it was so unbelievably small, I couldn't imagine his remains inside.

Bile forces its way up my stomach, and I lean over, retching and crying, all at the same time.

I'm broken; dark and tormented, a murderer playing a murderer's game.

I shouldn't be like this. I should be free and happy, not in a graveyard. I climb up from my seat, pulling the knife for protection. Almost killed once, but not again. I stagger through the trees, pressing my palms to the trunk and hissing as I gain splinters. I pass the body of the boy from One, a hole in his chest and dried blood on his chin. They aren't collecting the bodies; they truly want this graveyard to be appropriate, don't they.

I hear whispers and begin to lower my breath. Through the space of trees and bare light, I can make out a lone figure, with long, curly hair. A girl, clearly. But who?

Her back is to me. She can't see me. My hand, on natural instinct, slides down my leg and retrieves the other knife. Natural instinct; it's to now kill. I feel sickened by that once again. I raise the knife and begin to emerge from the shadows, willing my body with every step and remembering that anyone else would do the same, anyone else would kill without remorse. I want to go home like anyone else, but my reasons far extend love.

It extends to my sanity.

* * *

******Black Chandelier by Biffy Clyro.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Aspen Berkley, District Seven.**

**Evy Redwood, District Seven.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**June and Becky, I know I'm always saying this, but your characters are always amazing and beautiful. I'm sorry Aspen and Evy died, I just thought it was their time!**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Two more to die before the final ten - preferences as to who you want to not make the final ten?**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**Okay, so, we have exactly six more game chapters and then the Victor's interview!**

**Personally, I feel like this was my strongest chapter and I have a lot of fun writing this one! Usually, by this point, my writing falls and flounders, but I don't think it is this time. Yeah. Just helping my ego grow a little bit, har har.**

**Keep an eye out for Wild One, it'll be up and properly starting soon!**


	14. Blinding

**Blinding.**

_Felt it in my fists, in my feet, in the hollow of my eyelids._

* * *

**Kieran DeLuca, District Ten Female.**

* * *

She left me. I should be surprised, and yet, the sinking feeling in my stomach is telling me that I'm not. I finally grew to trust Margot after everything that has happened between us, and then she downright abandoned me because of an injury. Would I have done the same? Honestly, I wouldn't have. I wouldn't have left her alone. Maybe Margot never really cared for this alliance - maybe, in her mind, I was just around to help her go further and then she'd leave me. It'd make sense; she was the one that encouraged us to avoid the bloodbath, and then after watching Chip be killed by her district partner, she ran, leaving me and Nate to chase. But she kept running and Nate got lost. And then, of course, he got killed, too.

I just... I don't whether to be angry at her congratulate her because her plan well and truly worked.

I can't give up, though, can I? I mean, it's not like I can just sit down, close my eyes and then wait for death to capture my heart. No. No, if Margot wants to abandon me, then let her.

I try to force myself to stand, ignoring the ripping sensation that thunders through my leg, making everything seem weak. I wobble for a moment, collecting my thoughts. I almost want to laugh at how fucking funny and poetic and all this is. I'm here because of a woman I never even knew. I was placed in a "home" that never really understood me. Many of the girls teased me and bullied me, and sure, it was sad, but it didn't define me. I'm a fighter - and one day, I stood up to them, and ever since then, I became known as the girl who just loves to fight people. Funny thing is; these kids are in the same position as me. Their parents abandoned them, too, like my father whilst my mother, Ilianna, was reaped.

I call her Ilianna rather than mother because, well, how can you use that word, meant for the woman who loved and birthed you, when I never got to know her? I can't feel love for someone I don't know. Mrs. Thorpe, lady of the orphanage, said I was delivered to her by Peacekeepers when I was just two months old - father clearly out of the picture.

A small laugh erupts from my throat in tune with a crow.

I remember this one time, where I snuck out my room after curfew, to go downstairs and watch some television. That time of the year was only recaps of past Games, but I still wanted to be a little rebellious. Why? I don't even know, I was a kid, it was in my nature. It was the Eighty-Third Games, won by a unique man, Bolt Harker from District Three. He was polite and warm in his interview, so unlike a Victor. They scanned through the arena and then the deaths - they fascinated and sickened me at the time. I was only about six, but I understood enough.

We got to the final ten, and Bolt visibly began to seize up. The male from District Five met his death at the hands of the male from District Two, and straight after, Bolt is seen murdering the male from Two. Final eight. That's when they zoom in on a girl, frail and scared, hidden in a large bush that seemed almost haunting. My heart twinged at the sight of her, and I knew, I knew that was my mother, Ilianna. A group of Mutts, birds I think, descended on her and ripped her to shreds with their talons.

I laugh bitterly again, looking over at the slab of meat known as the girl from Three.

They did exactly what they did on my mother to her. I always felt uneasy around those crows - they resembled the monsters that killed Ilianna too much.

And of course, at that age, I was crying and crying, the death too disturbing. Mrs. Thorpe found me before I got to watch Bolt Harker take home the crown, aka, his life. I just remember a lot of things changing after that night. I grew a pair, so to speak, and decided to fight back. I can't say I loved Ilianna, but I admire her for doing this. I now know what it feels like to be fearing for your life every single second that passes by. I bend over, the pain in my thigh obvious, and scoop up the backpack Margot left me with. She took what she needed but left me the backpack. I check everything is inside - and when I know, it is, I begin to walk, forcing my foot higher. It constantly drags on the floor, so I have to lift it a little higher.

I get so far before my leg just becomes far too heavy.

The pain brings tears to my eyes, each step stretching the wound a tiny bit more. My hands are so shaky, the backpack and knife go flying out of my hand and hit the floor.

I'm not made for this, not really. I'm a fighter - but not a survivor. I hear some noises, but the pain pretty much drowns all noises out. My head is thudding, banging against my skull, filling it up with liquid and making my hearing not so great. I feel weak and wousy; like my body is just slowly drowning under water.

That's why I don't hear anything until I feel the cold silver of a knife forced against my throat. Whoever it is, they don't slice or even draw blood. They hold it there and I can feel their breath on my neck, the shakiness in their voice in my ear. Whoever it is isn't completely okay. Much like me - they kill because they have to. I understand; I did the same thing to the boy from Seven. I heart hammers and I'm almost sure I can hear their heart hammering, too.

My whole body tightens and goes rigid. The pain still throbs, and as I gulp dry, the lump bobs against the knife, cutting into my skin finely.

"I-I-I'm s-sor-ry." they choke out of their emotions.

Just like what I said to Seven. Aspen, I mean. Referring to them from their district rather than their name makes killing them easier, less personal. With a swift swipe, the pain stretches out across my throat, and air breathes in but I can't breathe out, and suffocates me, and blackness swarms behind my eyes, and my body falls, and and and... my cannon sounds. Maybe now I can really get to know Ilianna, my mother.

* * *

**Cyra Matrons, District Two Female.**

* * *

Sneaky.

I watch with amusement in my eyes as the girl from Ten falls, a bright smile across her throat. Her cannon makes the trees wildly whip and shake, and from behind her crumpled form, I can see the girl from Eight. The knife rattles in her obvious shaken hand and she cries out, just for a moment, clamping her hand across her mouth. Realisation hits her and she bends down, scooping up the backpack and the other knife from Ten, her instinct kicking in. She's upset; but still selfish enough to collect her thoughts and steal the girl's belongings. With everything in hand, she slinks back into the shadows of the trees.

I let out a shaky breath. That was close - I'm sure the cameras are on me, wondering why the dastardly Career didn't just execute the girl on the spot. For some reason, I don't want to and I don't feel like I have to. I'm sure the Gamemakers will dispose of her if she becomes more of a problem. My main goal, obviously, is to find Azolla, all the while avoiding where I think Honor and Ajax have disappeared to.

Slinking out the mass of trees, I walk over to the fallen girl, her red uniform almost black from the light. My eyes gaze at her curiously; she doesn't seem that tough or even physically fit, but honestly, I expected more from her. She seemed like she could go far, and I guess, the irony is that the Hunger Games is more of a game of skill rather than power or luck. Some are lucky; most are just tactical. Eight clearly kills when the victim isn't looking, rather than fighting fist-to-fist.

With my scythe in hand, I carelessly roll the girl over. Her eyes are open, staring at the thin air.

I shake my hand and kick her over, face back to the dirt underneath. I haven't got time for this, I don't even know why I'm staring.

"Cyra."

I turn to the voice, surprised to see the blonde hair I've been hunting - I mean trying to find - standing at the opposite end of the clearing.

"Azolla, I've been trying to find you," I say, placing my hand to my heart. "I thought you were someone else!"

Her face doesn't look too pleased, hair astray and eyes fearfully wide. The harpoon in her hands doesn't shake or waver, but the grip on it makes her knuckles turn a ghostly white. The trees tower over her, shadows casting on her face and darkening some features, making the sweet, ditzy girl seem much more sinister with those eyes and weapon.

"I've been trying to find you, too." Azolla says plainly, the sweetness is her voice evaporated.

"I wanted for us to pair up," I say casually, stepping over the dead body's sprayed out arm. "Since Lamont was murdered by Honor or Ajax, it's clear they are a pair, which I think is unfair of them. We could take them down, you know, the pair of us."

"How do you know Lamont was murdered by them?"

I pause for a moment and switch my scythe to the other hand. "I watched Ajax do it. I watched Lamont pleading for his life and then Ajax just took it so carelessly."

"So like you did to Marlin when he wasn't useless?" Azolla shoots back. "And you just said Honor or Ajax, and now you're saying Ajax did it. What is it, Cyra?"

"Ajax did it," my voice turns to a growl. "I don't see the point of this - either way, Honor and Ajax are a pair, and guaranteed they are hunting the pair of us down right now!"

Azolla creeps forward, foot touching the ground teasingly as she emerges from the darkness more and more. It's only then do I really get a good look at Azolla; the cuts have begun to heal, but they're still fresh and looking almost lumpy. They cross her face, a large, curved one around her neck and just touching her throat. She looks like a wounded creature - attacked but escaped from the jaws of death. Her hair is astray and all over the place, a shell of what the girl seemed in the Capitol. Come to think of it, I always assumed Azolla both weak and incompetent, nothing but a blonde bimbo; turns out looks can clearly be deceiving.

"Is that so?" Azolla asks, an edge to her voice still. "I suppose we could, just to kill the pair of them and then we split for the final."

I smirk, trying my best to hide it. Okay, I take my previous comment back; Azolla is just an idiot. It'll be too easy. Me and her can just attack the other two, and if I'm lucky, Azolla might be able to take out Honor. Then, Ajax will kill Azolla for me, and two big competitors dead. It'll be me and Ajax, and at the end of the day, I know Ajax and what's he is capable of; he'll be dead before he can open that pretty little mouth of his. Azolla steps forward and I do the same. Now, we're but inches apart, and that's when Azolla stops.

"On one condition," she says, holding her hand in the air. "You lead us to them. You clearly know where they are, since you witnessed them kill Lamont, so you should be able to find them easily, no?"

She's trying to pry me out into the open. She's clever; but I'm more clever. "Of course I do. They went this way."

I point to the direction I guess they go and Azolla hums in apparent agreement. "Lead the way then."

I turn around, and I guess, that was my biggest mistake. Her footsteps pound against the earth and I instantly spin, throwing myself to the floor to avoid the harsh slice of her harpoon. I hit the ground hard and Azolla stabs it, just missing me, hitting stone between my legs. Her eyes are flared in hatred. I kick at her knee, and with a grunt, she falls down, bowing to my greatness. I stand quickly and send a kick into her chest, taking away the air from her lungs. She falls onto her back and I ram my scythe downwards. Azolla barely has time to avoid the hit, and the metal of my scythe rips her costume open, leaving a fine line of blood on her skin. She hisses and staggers to her feet, sweeping out her hand, brutally slapping me across the face. It sends me reeling back, and another slap follows almost straight after, peppering stars in my vision.

"Do you think I'd help you after you killed Marlin?" Azolla rasps, slapping me once more for good measure. I fall down to my knees, everything blurry. "I want you dead for what you did. He didn't deserve to die."

She doesn't even understand her stupidity - he didn't deserve to die, so she would have had to die to ensure his survival. Stupid, lovestruck child.

"Y-You're an idiot," I choke, spitting out a wad of metallic blood that quickly rushes into my mouth. "He was always meant to die!"

Her boot finds my chest, forcing me to the floor. Azolla stands over me, harpoon poised over my chest. Her eyes blink, twitch and then she growls. Azolla has officially lost the plot.

"I'll do it for him as well." she says mindlessly, digging the harpoon in slightly.

"Y-You do tha-at," I spit out more blood, aiming for her shoes. "And when you eventually see him again, tell him I enjoyed slicing his innards to shreds!"

Anger consumes her face, turning it red, and she screams like an animal. With a single thrust, the harpoon rips into my body. Azolla's head vibrates with anger as she continue to push it further and further through my body. Tears leak from my eyes and a scream bubbles on the tip of my tongue. With a final push, the tip of the harpoon sinks into the ground beneath me, pinning me. I feel the pain swamp my body and I see the stars, calling my name. They cover my vision and everything goes incredibly fuzzy. A cannon sounds somewhere in the distance, muted.

* * *

**Hayl Gartham, District Five Female.**

* * *

Dagan snaps the branch in two. He hands me one end and smirks. The anthem begins to play, and Dagan's face becomes grave. We both look up to see the seal, followed by the girl from Two's face and then the girl from Ten. I sigh. Three Careers are left, and we're down to the final ten. Dagan's warning alarms in my head; he mentioned that whatever was behind that wall was for the final ten, five or three, which means it'll be coming soon.

"You won't use a knife, so use this to defend yourself."

I frown. "You're not funny, Dagan."

"I don't mean to be," he answers honestly. "But, in all fairness, maybe you should just take a knife. It won't hurt you if you hold the right end - and to clarify, that's the end that isn't sharp and silver."

He laughs again and I can't resist the urge to smack him playfully. He pretends to be wounded and holds a hand over his heart. Everyone changes in the arena, so Dagan says, and if anything, Dagan seems to becoming awfully bipolar. One moment, everything is lighthearted and even with the darkness, things seem much more calm and sedated. Then, he's faced with something like the wall and he's suddenly determined to find out anyway, despite a few seconds earlier warning me about the dangers of trying to break rules. He is both reckless and caring. Back during training, I saw him as nothing but a Career-esque tribute, strong and determined and possibly even deadly. Then, he forced me into an alliance and he became sweet, kind and generous, looking out for me. Then moments of darkness arrive and his voice goes grave, telling me of the dangers and the problems. After that, he becomes reckless, and then sweet and kind once more. Back and forth it seems to go.

My eyes trace out towards the Cornucopia, where anyone could be.

"Why are we heading out there again?" I ask, my arm holding onto Dagan's bicep for support.

"Because it might be our safest option," Dagan responds. "I mean, if you think about, the crows are going around and I feel like they're waiting for the perfect moment to attack, you know? If we head out into the open, they won't. I mean, I haven't seen any crows out there, have you? Besides that, the Careers won't be there no more since they are down to three. They'll be out hunting."

It only leaves one from each Career district - the girls from One and Four, the boy from Two.

I nod. "Okay, I guess we should go."

Dagan slides my tiny hand in his calloused one and squeezes tight. I have him for now, but even that won't last forever. If we're the final two, will he so willingly give up his life for me? I hardly would think so, and I know that deep down, I can't promise I'd do the same if roles were reversed. He slowly leads me out the last few billowing trees and onto the soft ground. Maple leaves scatter the area, and I'm not surprised to see scarlet flowers of blood blooming in odd places. I don't think anyone was killed out here during the bloodbath, but maybe someone did before they collected the body? If they even are collecting the bodies, I don't know, Dagan thinks they might not this time around because of the setting being a graveyard; said it'd be poetic.

Our boots slowly walk the mud in time with each other. Dagan has a knife in one hand and a stick in the other, and then me, with nothing.

I feel like Dagan feels he has to protect me; I refuse to use weapons, but that doesn't mean he has to try for the both of us. Oh, I don't know. I'm not even saying that I want him to stop - I just hate the feeling that, to the outside world, it looks like I'm using Dagan as a human shield for victory.

The wooden coffins, particularly the blown one, come into view and my innards just flip, the many thoughts of the bloodbath racing through my mind. I didn't fight; I didn't want to fight. I want to live without sparing my soul. I want Dagan to live without ripping his own apart to save us both. I want a lot of things - but I'm so against the actions to get there. Maybe, maybe I am a prude. Maybe what my stylist said was true; maybe I'm more concerned about looking right, that I feel wrong all the time. I was brought up to be proper and prim, a modest girl. But in this game of life and death, will being prim and proper get you anywhere? That's why Careers usually win - they gave up their souls a long time ago.

We reach the edge of the plates, and from what I can tell, I can't see any other tributes. The Cornucopia has been stacked weird, though, compared to before. Before, it was a mass, a collection, and now it's been shaped and built like a towering wall, covering the mouth.

"Are you ready?" Dagan asks, though I'm not too sure what he means. Maybe he means fighting, or maybe he means hiding. I can't see any other tribute, so that's a positive, I suppose.

"With you, I guess I'll always have to be." I respond, voice laced with fear and honesty.

Dagan changes so many times - it's hard to keep my feelings the same. Sometimes, I care for him, his loving and caring attitude making the perfect person to ally with. Then sometimes, he scares me, a reckless, dark attitude that's laced with so many secrets kept hidden by a grave, gritty voice; everything he doesn't want to share with the girl he pursued to join him. It doesn't make sense; Dagan no longer makes sense.

I don't know where I stand with him, but I know I'd rather stand with him than against him.

* * *

**Nomen Clature, District Five Male.**

* * *

I shift the controller in my hand. My eyes scan outwards at all the other plates and the Cornucopia, lower than ground level. My finger idly runs over the bright red button - another little present sent by Cordelia - and I smile contentedly. From my controller in the home to many bright red wires, just like the button, that descend underneath the dirt and then scatter outwards. The controller is portable, but I have to stay within a certain radius. Yes, my plan is simple, and it involved the mines and the plates.

Waiting for the gong to sound, I was jittery and, not going to lie, kinda excited. My plan was soon to happen. Then that loud boom that I grow accustomed to happened and my jaw just dropped. I know now that the mute girl from Nine jumped, but I was still in a state of shock - I prepared myself for that explosion, watching recaps of the Games, but it felt so much more real and empowered in person. It left my ears ringing and a smile on my face. I played dead, escaped, and then I just had to set everything up. The Capitol will easily know my plan; but the tributes don't. They never bothered to notice me, because who cares about the grinning, minor psychopathic geek from District Five, home of geeks alongside Three? They might have thought of me as happy - but oh no, far from it. The only person who realised I was minorly maniacal was Hayl, and even then, she was still clueless to everything that was set in motion from my name being called.

I just have to wait, and I know that the Capitol will let me. My explosion will be worthy; great and powerful, television gold for all the brainless idiots. That's what they want and that's why they've kept me alive for so long without interference. The Gamemakers know and they're just as excited to provide the entertainment. Do they not realise that this is why of fighting back? With this explosion, I'll be set in history, and then I plan to abuse the newfound power to get what I want; justice.

I place the controller down on the plate and jump off, running down the hill.

When it's about to happen, I need to hide. The explosion will destroy everything in it's path - everything except the Cornucopia. I done my research - barely but I did - and I know the golden material of the Cornucopia is designed to be able to withstand anything and everything. I'll hide in there and barricade the mouth; it'll destroy the boxes, but if my calculations are correct, it should destroy them and not come inside, affecting me.

I lift the first crate and set it down, followed by another. I throw all the backpacks and weapons in the inside, covering them, continuing my wall-building. I'll be hiding in here for when the time comes. The feast will be announced and every dumb tribute will be fighting over their packs, unaware of the explosion until the fire is literally ripping their flesh from their bones.

Maybe I am a little crazy and overzealous, but Cordelia agreed with the plan, and the Capitol obviously are intrigued to not send Mutts or anything after me.

Everything has played out well, and there isn't much time left. Nine tributes stand tall, and when only four including are me are left, the feast will be announced and the end will be cleared.

Finishing the last box, I smile and run back up to the plate, collecting my controller. The first plate to detonate will be opposite the tail of the Cornucopia. A domino effect will happen, circling around and around. By the time it reaches the mouth, it'll be weaker, thus sparing me. It's all been planned. I close my eyes and remember the day Zeke came to see me, to apologise to my family for losing Pilus. When he walked into the room, he expected a sobbing sibling, cradling their knees and rocking themselves back and forth. Instead, he got a genius, sat at a desk drawing designs of an explosion.

Everyone underestimates me - everyone stereotypes me. I'm not physically strong, but that doesn't mean I'm not a contender.

Swords and knives and spears aren't going to defend someone against the sheer power of fire and explosions. Can they throw a spear when the flames are licking at their flesh, ripping their insides up? Can they parry a sword when the explosion causes their eyeballs to literally combust?

No, no they can't. They can't defend themselves; because at the end of the day, an explosion will always beat a weapon.

Scooping up the controller, I run for the Cornucopia and slide myself inwards, placing a box over the gap. In total darkness, I wait, weapons around me. A small stream of diluted light comes through, dust lifting through the air. I close my eye and peer out... that's when I see them. Hayl and her district partner. Slowly but surely, the pair walk down the hill, Hayl's hand linked with his. I hold back a bitter laugh when Hayl actually steps on the unearthed mud that conceals one of the many wires. She's basically like a mouse, stepping onto the trap. Or, a better analogy would be a fly, trapped in the spider's web of wires that hide beneath her very boot. Either way, poor, prim Hayl will struggle against it all. Her mind won't be able to comprehend what I've done; she's always been unnerved by me, well, lets see how far I can push her before she breaks.

They come closer, arms linked.

"Wait here, Hayl," the boy says in a low voice. "I'll check around the edges and see if anyone is here."

"Okay, be quick though." Hayl responds quietly.

He abandoned her figure, disappearing from my line of view. All I can see is Hayl's dark hair and tanned skin, her back to the Cornucopia. I see her hands - weaponless - and smile triumphantly. I tilt my head, noticing the faint glimmer of silver from a knife. I scoop it up and hold it, twisting and turning it to examine my weapon. Yes, it'll do. I look back to Hayl's figure and smile once more.

Time for the spider to catch the fly.

* * *

******Blinding by Florence + The Machine.**

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******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Kieran DeLuca, District Ten.**

**Cyra Matrons, District Two.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Infinity, I'm sorry for Kieran's death, but I think it was time. Besides, you had Cameron on your side. ;) Willow, I loved Cyra and she has been my favourite District Two female so far. Her character was one of the few that I laughed at whilst writing - she was too much like me. **

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**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**I forgot a question! umm... thoughts on everything?**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

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**There are five more chapters left, and nine more have to die in them. The winner spot is coming up fast.**

**The ten surviving tributes are some of the more realistic tributes I could see getting this far, so a round of applause for Honor, Ajax, Azolla, Nomen, Hayl, Milo, Noelle, Twill, Dagan and Margot. All of these, in my mind, could have gotten this far for a variety of reasons. Our final three is in here somewhere - I hope some of you are _remotely_ happy with this...**

**But yes. Nomen's plan has been revealed - it's not as clever as some of you may have thought - but trust me, there's still a bit more to come from it. So, yeah, if anyone guessed that, brownie points for you!**

**Shorter chapter, again, and it'll keep getting smaller as tributes dwindle.**

**For anyone who might be confused - Hayl and Nomen's POVs were suppose to be at the same time, you know? Like, Hayl's finished where Nomen's finished...**


	15. Keep Holding On

**Keep Holding On.**

_Just stay strong, 'cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you._

* * *

**Honor Elliot, District One Female.**

* * *

I look to Ajax's smirked form, sat down cross-legged on the ground opposite me, face illuminated by the crackles of our fire. Ever since we saw Cyra's face in the sky, he couldn't have been happy. Sure, I think he wanted to kill Cyra himself, but the happiness is there. Right now, it's like an aura radiating from his body; and I can tell. For once, I can read Ajax like a book, and that's only because his smile and Cyra's face is easy to piece together. I knew how much he wanted her dead and how much he would have loved to drive his spear through her, but this will suffice, apparently.

"I wonder who killed her," Ajax wonders out loud. "Whoever it is, I'm going to pat them on the back before they die."

"I reckon Azolla," I answer, turning the bird he killed on a spit. It didn't attack; just perched idly. "I mean, in all honesty, Azolla didn't seem happy that Cyra killed Marlin. If it weren't her, then the boy from Nine she propositioned, since that's all the strong contenders."

"Or the girl from Twelve, perhaps," Ajax chuckles. "She seemed rather... elusive in training. Then there's the two from Five and Six, and lets face it, looks can be deceiving."

"Or even District Eight," I counter again. "She seemed strong and her score was decent. I mean, it was only one lower than Cyra, and maybe she snuck up from behind?"

"If it was me, I'd have pushed it slowly between her eyes, making her watch me."

"I thought you weren't sadistic? Took no pleasure in killing?"

"I don't," Ajax responds, voice laced with a darkened edge. "But for her, I'd make an exception."

I smile awkwardly, despite not really being the moment I should. I even bow my head so that Ajax doesn't see. For me, showing emotion isn't something I can do. I've spent my life behind a masquerade of falsity, and with that, all emotions were forced and false, just to please everyone. My father pushed me and forced me to go further into training - and, in a sense, the more I trained, the less I felt human and the less I wanted to be me. I hid behind that mask because I had no choice. An outside view would say I had plenty; but it's easier to judge when it's someone else's life.

I hear a small ding and look up, surprised to see a white flash of cloth and a silver canister. Ajax collects it when it lands nearby, flipping the canister and pulling forth a small vial of white grains. He passes me the note over the fire, and I lean it inwards to read.

_Here's some salt - I would have chosen poison to kill him, but it's 'frowned' upon -Z_

"Whose it for?"

"From Zircon, it's salt. For the food, obviously, unless you're getting too sweet on me." I mumble, screwing up the note and tossing it into the fire.

Ajax smirks and sits back down, ripping the parachute from the threads and tossing it onto the open fire. It crackles and the flames lick it to shreds, igniting the fire more. It's hard not to notice the way Ajax flinches at the sight. Flammable material, clearly, as sparks spit at the de-feathered bird. Silence pulls in and I find myself sneaking glances at Ajax. He sits there quietly, rolling his spear on the ground over the little stones and then back again. Everything is very passive, and, looking at it, competition is coming down. Without Cyra anymore, Azolla's our only major threat, and, to be frank, both me and Ajax against Azolla... she wouldn't have a chance. The feeling of planning her death causes my stomach to flip. I actually liked Azolla; I still do. Her and Marlin were always kind and sweet, never bold or brash. The pair of them would probably have lasted longer if they didn't join us. I mean, Marlin wouldn't be dead and Azolla would have someone. Now, she's on her own, and here I am, with an ally, planning her death.

What about when me and Ajax split? There's only one winner and I didn't volunteer to die. He obviously didn't either.

Compared to all the other Careers, I hate the feeling that Ajax might be planning my death. If it was anyone else, then fine, I could handle that, but the notion of Ajax thinking about it sends my stomach into more somersaults. I gaze over at Ajax once more, his face solemn and stony. Maybe he's thinking the same? This alliance was founded upon irony, if you think about it. Ajax had always lingered in the back of mind, especially after the recaps with Hermes Abbatone. Irony. Is there anything else to this alliance? Trust. Caring. Unity. Skills. Love?

I shake my head and pull the spit off the fire carefully. I use the tip of my sword to cut the meat into chunks, handing Ajax some. He smiles a little and throws a piece into his mouth carelessly, some juices - highlighted by the fire - dripping down his chin. I have the urge to lean across and swipe it away with my thumb. Maybe in another time or if we lived in the same district, it could've worked between us.

"Ten left. You know, we could go all the way to the finals."

"I had no doubts about that." I smirk.

Ajax laughs a little and bows his head. "You know, Honor, I-I've never spoke about my brother to anyone before. I mean, everyone knew from the recaps what happened, but I never discussed how I felt about it, you know?"

"We haven't talked about it though?" I frown, standing up to move next to him. He shuffles a little closer, tanned face painted by the amber light. "I mean, not properly, anyway. I don't like to talk about Vanity; makes me all melancholic."

"You're a strange one, you know that?" he laughs lightly. "I mean, just when I think I've worked you out, you change."

"Same can be said for you."

"Guess it just makes us complex people."

"Indeed." I whisper.

Every camera around the arena will be watching us. Every person in every district across Panem will be watching us. Will they understand that not all Careers are murderous and brutal? That, even to their minds, we're not all just animals? We have a reputation, sure, and people like Lamont and Cyra only influence it more, sure, but we're still teenagers and we're still human. Someone like Cyra volunteered for reasons unknown - probably to just kill - whereas me and Ajax have a reason. I was forced into this to win against my will, to honor the name that Vanity tarnished, whereas Ajax wants to avenge his brother, so I think.

"Why are you here then?" Ajax suddenly asks, cutting through the silence once more. "I mean, what are your reasons for volunteering?"

I should tell him the truth. But, then how bad will that look on camera that I was forced into this because our name was dragged through the dirt? As much as I hate my father for doing this to me, he's still my father, there's always going to be love there. "My sister. Avenge her, I guess. What about yours?"

"Vague answer, should have expected that," Ajax smirks. He shuffles away from the fire and positions his spear more directly into it, heating the metal arrowhead. "same as you. Avenging my brother, proving that as a family, we are strong. Do you know of the Arvoy siblings, Cashmere and Gloss?"

I nod.

"Well, we always joked we'll be the next ones. After both of them died in the last Quarter Quell, me and Axel always said we'd do the same. But, after his death, I just broke. I couldn't go through with it. Then this Quarter Quell came along, and low and behold, I was picked."

"Picked?" I question.

"Can't say," Ajax shrugs his shoulders, moving the spear away and blowing on the heated tip. "but, I ended up in here anyway, so I'm glad, in a twisted sense. I was encouraged and pushed into something that I was secretly feeling against. I don't know. But yeah. Avenging him and trying to redeem our name. Saying it out loud sounds all the more stupid and childish."

And, just when I thought things couldn't get more ironic, it did. Ajax isn't really feeling all this. But, he needs to avenge a deceased sibling and restore a name. Aren't I doing the same? Father wants me to redeem our family name, and in my mind, I'm shrouding that reason with avenging Vanity to help me through it. I look to Ajax one last time and he smiles coyly.

Trust. Caring. Unity. Skills. All things that are the foundation to your alliance.

Irony. Bonded. Poetic justice and destiny. All words to describe the position we're in.

Love? Well, the butterflies in my stomach are the first hint, so yeah, maybe it is. Maybe that's another word as to why I'm still here alongside him.

* * *

**Hayl Gartham, District Five Female.**

* * *

I watch carefully as Dagan begins to scout the nearby area. My hands fall in front of me and I link my fingers tight. My gut continues to do somersaults, peppering my vision with how sick I feel. Something doesn't feel right; then again, my stomach has been feeling like this since we arrived. Maybe it's nerves or some powerful being telling me that something is about to happen. I don't know. I look at Dagan as he bends over a particular plate and begins to sweep - what I presume to be - white dots.

"What are they?" I shout.

"Crumbs," Dagan calls back. "Someone was here recently."

My breath hitches in my throat and I feel to stagger back. My head whips from side to side, desperate to find the person that was here. Dagan notices the drama, and before I know it, he's right in front of my face, hands on my shoulder and clenching tight.

"Breathe Hayl, breathe. They could be long gone now. Might have heard us and ran."

"H-He could be h-here. Th-hey could be here. The Careers, the o-other allies, a-anyone," I stutter out, emotions and thoughts overwhelming me. I've never been this scared in my life. The last time I felt this was back at the bloodbath, and once again, Dagan was there to protect me. The cut on his cheek says it all. "O-Oh my g-god i-"

My words are cut when I feel his lips are pressed against mine. They're calloused and rough, much like the hands that are gripped onto my shoulder, but I didn't expect anything less. Dagan is a man, not a boy. Our lips move in sync and I can smell the forest on his outfit. It's settling and calming, like water pushing away the filthy thoughts of everything around us. He moves away and smiles, lips slightly swollen and a bruised pink.

"There, something I've wanted to do since meeting you," Dagan breathes. "Look, whoever it is, they aren't here now. Look around you, there's no-one. You just need to relax and think things through. I would never have guessed you'd be the one to freak out."

"Well you should of," I reply, just as breathless. "I don't exactly want to die and I'm not exactly survivor material."

He sweeps his hand lightly over my cheek. "Besides that, you're perfect."

I blush. "That's corny. Never thought you'd be the one to be like that."

Dagan laughs and, with his hands, ushers me to sit on the ground. I cross my legs and he sits opposite me, my back to the golden mouth boxed up. I wonder why they did that? Maybe something big is to happen, like with that wall. Stop us from going inside it for protection? Dagan carefully eyes it over my shoulder, though, and I place a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"Don't be paranoid again. You got like this with the cemented wall, now with a box wall."

"Something just isn't right, that's all. I'm being cautious, so sue me."

Thing is, as much as he's cautious, he's dangerous. He worries about things and yet, he goes out of his way to find out. He makes me feel both safe and unsteady all in one. Not to mention the kiss sending another wave of mixed emotions through me. He's caring and cute, yet dangerous. Kinda like the bad boys my parents wanted me to avoid completely. I mean, I would ask him why he's like that, but I'm almost positive that he'll have an excuse or a valid reason. A valid reason, more than likely, but that doesn't exactly help. He won't change - and frankly, where am I to expect that he would? It's bad enough that people might assume I'm using him, let alone trying to change him more. It'll just emphasise the first accusation. I can already imagine the fit my parents are having over the kiss just seconds ago.

Dagan doesn't let his eyes move, though, constantly switching back and forth from me to the box wall to around us.

"Something isn't right. I'm going to check around, see if a tribute is nearby."

I instantly flinch as he stands. He notices, bending over and tilting my chin up with one of his hands.

"Don't worry; no-one would be stupid enough to be here when we're here now. But, I'll feel safer knowing that we're both incredibly safe, yeah? Maybe I should move on of the boxes and have a peak inside, maybe there's something in there."

He slowly moves behind me, but my instinct takes over, and I latch my hand around his booted ankle. "They might punish you, like you said. They dropped you from the sky, Dagan, they can do a lot worse."

"I'll be safe, I promise." he smiles reassuringly.

I remove my hand and spin around to face the Cornucopia. He carefully steps forward and curls his fingers through some of the gaps around a box. In a slow motion, he drags the box out, hopefully trying not to unsettle something or cause something to explode in his face. My heart races. It thuds against my chest. That's when it happens.

The boxes explode outwards and Dagan tumbles onto his back. At first, I think it's an explosion - though there isn't a noise - quickly throwing myself to the ground and covering my eyes. But instead, I feel hands on my shoulders. I smile when I realise that Dagan's okay.

"Don't do that to m-me again." I say shakily.

"He won't get the chance to." a cold, familiar voice replies.

And just like the cold voice, a cold object is pressed against my throat.

* * *

**Dagan Grove, District Nine Male.**

* * *

As I slam against the ground, having been pushed, I quickly stand up, realising that a tribute was hiding behind the boxes all along. I would've checked sooner, but Hayl's minor meltdown and then panic put me off it. I look out and my heart drops pathetically. Hayl's district partner, Nomen, stands there with a small knife pressed against Hayl's throat. His other arm has one of Hayl's arms trapped behind her back, pinned so she's unable to move. It's a scene that's enough to make anyone sick.

"Wait till I get hold of you." I spit.

Nomen only smirks and presses the knife closer to Hayl's exposed throat. A small, tiny trail of blood trickles down her pale flesh, mixing with her red suit. "I don't think you're in a position to actually make threats, District Nine. I'm the one with the advantage here, not you."

"I swear, if you hurt her I-"

"You'll what?" Nomen smirks, tilting his head, luring me in. "You'll kill me and then everything will be good? You make me laugh. Why would you want to keep someone like Hayl as an ally?"

"She's a decent person." I sneer.

"Decent isn't exactly going to make sure you'll survive. What was you planning on doing when you two might have been last ones standing? Kill yourself so she can survive, is that it?"

I step forward but Nomen laughs manically, pressing the knife in deeper, causing both Hayl's head to tilt back and for the small trail of blood to become a little thicker. I look to Hayl's eyes, glossed over extremely large, terrified, pained. A few stray tears leak from her eyes, rolling down her cheek and then chin, smearing the blood. How can I save her? My eyes drop to the ground, finding my pitchfork on the floor, abandoned. I have nothing to even fight with. Even if I could kill him, Hayl would already be dead. One too many footsteps and that knife glides across her throat.

Nomen's cold, calculating eyes lock onto mine. I study everything around him, eyes shooting up and down for something to help me. He shuffles and yanks on Hayl's arm harder, causing her to cry out in obvious pain. Whatever move I choose will be the wrong one. He adjusts the arm behind Hayl's back once more; that's when I see a small, controller-like object encased in his curled fingers.

My eyes dart downwards, and underneath Hayl's struggling boot, I can see the glimpse of a thin, red wire. He has this place trapped? Dread takes control of my body. Well, I think I understand what Hayl meant now. He truly is dangerous. But, you know what, so am I.

As quick as a flash, I leap forwards, grabbing the handle of my pitchfork and then swiping outwards with it. Except, I don't hit a body fully. My arm clips a set of ankles. There's a sickening slice, a cry of pain, and then a thud followed straightaway by another. I leap to my feet and survey the scene. Hayl's body is squirming on the floor, a slice across her neck. I run forward and that's when I feel a fist fly into my gut. It sends the wind out of me and causes me to spin and lashes out with the pitchfork. It hits skin; Nomen crying in response. I look to his suit, damp and still red, one spike of the pitchfork sliced into his side. The controller - now much more visible - falls to the ground, narrowly missing the button. I push all my anger and strength into the pitchfork and jerk it forward. He stumbles backwards and I stumble forwards, my pitchfork keeping him to me like a puppet on strings. I jerk even harder and the spike pierces through his back. Blood gushes and squirts from his body and I pull backwards, cementing his death. His body crumbles pathetically, a smile on his face as his cannon sounds.

But only his cannon.

I immediately spin around and run as fast as I can to Hayl, abandoning the pitchfork and the controller. He had it rigged the whole time.

Hayl's body is squirming, hand clamped around a neck that's bright hand, painting over her hands. I fall to my knees deflated, pressing my own hand to her neck. Her blood only continues to gush outwards. Tears streak her face, cheeks now turning a brightened pink and purple from strain. Her lips quiver and gulp - like a fish out of water - but no sound. Her other hand meekly brushes against mine, causing me to react and squeeze it tight. We mirror each other; one of our hands on her throat, the other holding each other.

"H-H-Hold o-on." I stutter, emotions taking over.

Hayl tries to make words but can't bring herself forward to speak. I squeeze tighter, begging her to respond. Her grip slowly becomes weaker and weaker and I feel myself dying with each breath she takes. Her eyes - watery and dull - find mine one last time. She forces her lips to smile, her final breath escaping out in one syllable. "Win."

Her cannon booms, shattering my body. Her hand falls limp in my own, but I continue to squeeze tighter, begging for her to return. Tears fall from my cheeks, but I don't even notice I'm crying until a tear falls on Hayl's now cold hand. I take a final breath, bringing her hand up to my lips - albeit a bit shaky - and planting a feverish kiss on it. Letting her hand slip from mine, I gently place that hand on her chest, joining it with the one from around her throat. The sight of a red smile on her pale - now red - skin is enough to make me sick.

I gaze across to Nomen's deceased body, so tempted to just run and beat it to nothing but a pulp, just so his parents can't recognise the boy and how maniacal he was. Not far from him lies my pitchfork, one spike painted red and holding a chunk of Nomen's flesh, like a spit for meat. The bright red button of his controller catches my attention and I get up, not realising how emotionally weak I feel. I stagger over to it and scoop it up, careful not to touch the button. I kick the dirt on the ground around with my feet, admiring the wires he so carefully hid. Like a spider's web, I follow on, heading up to one of the plates. Bombs. Hayl was definitely right.

I gruffly wipe my eyes with a dirt and bloody fist, walking back down to the scene of her death.

For you, Hayl. For you, I'll do it. I carefully brush my finger over the button. I've always been reckless, without a cause - now I have one.

* * *

**Noelle Alcott, District Six Female.**

* * *

Not long after the first cannon, a second cannon sounds. We stop and wait patiently for the seal to appear. It's bright, illuminating the blackened sky. A crow squawks in response and the anthem blares. The first face is the male from Five, face placid but holding something sinister. I never liked him; he seemed creepy. After that is, surprisingly, his district partner, the tanned girl with dark hair. She seemed nice... I remember talking to her once. The mood changes me. A whole district wiped out within seconds. Me and Milo... we could easily be next. The anthem suddenly stops and the sky returns to it's blackened state.

Milo walks sullen behind me, no doubt still preoccupied with what happened. I don't mind that he snapped at me; Sawyer did all the time and I still stayed loyal. I don't just abandon someone because they're mean. In fact, I've never walked away from anything. Just like with the gang back home, I was never brave enough to actually walk away. I want to be liked; is that so wrong?

I jump over a large root and Milo does the same, his boots crunching the ground. I still feel safe with him, despite everything. I know of his past and his uncle. That doesn't terrify me like it should. Wisp mentioned that I should be wary, but when you look at Milo, you don't exactly see a monster. All I see is a boy who, like me, has resorted to desperate measures to stay around; I joined a group that was bad for me, at the cost of my relationship with my brother, and Milo hid himself from the world because of how judgemental it was. I did it to save myself. He did it to save himself.

We continue a straight path, only swerving or moving for the mass of trees. All the small, flimsy branches fly over my head, whilst Milo has to smack some away.

"You don't have to feel bad, you know." I say after a while, the silence of the arena and Milo both upsetting. When he doesn't respond, I cough. "Sawyer did it all the time and I always forgave him."

"I'm not Sawyer though." he responds finally.

"I didn't say you were, Milo, I'm just saying that I forgive you, if that's what you're worried about."

"Do you have anymore pills?" he asks, cutting the conversation.

I stop and rummage through the backpack, finding the small tube of pills that we were given to help spare Milo's constant nightmares. I pluck out one of the yellow pills and turn around. Milo's face is contorted into that of pain and misery, eyes scrunching open and shut and his lip twitching. I pass him the pill which he takes and swallows greedily. I watch as the lump in his throat bobs, and then, his face begins to relax and go back to normal. Since getting them, Milo has taken a lot of the pills, like he's dependent on them. Something tells me that Milo might have a little drug problem of the sorts.

"Do you take tablets when you're home?" I question him as we start walking again. "I mean, to help with the nightmares. Do you take anything?"

"My dad just gives me an assortment. I have no idea what they are."

I nod slowly, though he can't see. We continue to go deeper and deeper into the shadows, cutting the light from the ground. It swallows us whole and I suddenly stop, frozen on the stop as my heart hammers in my ears. Milo stops by my side, his breath gruff and harsh. I strain my ears to try and pick up signs of something, and that's when I hear some footsteps. I wave my hand out, finding Milo's wrist and then clamping down on it. His other arm begins to move and, from the backpack on my shoulder, he produces a small throwing knife. I hold it out with my other hands and strain my ears once more, trying to work out which way the footsteps are. Panic and alarms shock my body, but I try to ignore them. Milo can't always protect me. He protects me whilst I'm asleep, I protect him whilst he's asleep. We're both awake, so we're both equals. Besides, I wasn't going to let him do anything if I didn't do anything. I couldn't live with the idea that Milo might've killed for me. Short, scurried breaths escape through my teeth as we wait.

"I d-don't think they're here anymore, Noelle, m-"

His words are cut off by a figure who storms through the trees. Whatever it is they do, their hands instantly lash out. A hand finds my cheek and my grip lets go of Milo. I hear a thud and then his voice. I stagger to the side and trip on something, sprawling to the floor. My small throwing knife leaps from my hand and lands in the darkness. Gone. I'll never find it now. I struggle to my feet and hear the noises of Milo and the attacker fighting. I flail backwards and land against the stern truck of a tree. I hold my breath and wait, sickened by the noise of something snapping with ease. My shallow breaths return as the cannon sounds. Tears prick at my eyes and I look to the sky, waiting, waiting and praying that it isn't Milo.

It isn't.

The seal evaporates to be replaced by the girl from District Twelve. I forgot she was still around.

"Milo?" I call out into the darkness.

But, rather than a voice, I'm responded with something that sounds far more sinister and less human. A chewing sound, followed by a guttural growl.

* * *

**Keep Holding On by Avril Lavigne.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Nomen Clature, District Five.**

**Hayl Gartham, District Five.**

**Margot Roybal, District Twelve.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Dramatic, I've always loved Nomen, despite that nobody else did. Loved having a maniacal geek ;) Jakey, Hayl was so prudent and pure, I loved her and she's always been one of my favourites throughout this because I relate to her a lot. And, lastly, Lighty, ugh, I did love Margot, but she got the better of me and I had no idea what to do with her.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Final three predictions and who you would like to be in the final three?**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**So, now a reckless District Nine boy has hold of the explosives. Yes, thank Nomen for creating them, but just because he's dead, doesn't mean we still can't use them ;)**

**We only have seven tributes left, three of them being Careers.**

**I also understand Margot's death might have been random... I wanted to keep it realistic and with more deaths means the arena is getting darker and darker, whilst around the Cornucopia is becoming redder and redder, with both blood and the red lights. Noelle couldn't see because of the darkness, so that's why Margot's death seems... odd. I tried making it realistic from Noelle's view.**

**Um. Yes. We've officially lost Milo, too.**

**Oh! Thanks for 200 reviews, beautiful people. ;)**


	16. Frightened Child

**Frightened Child.**

_I hear your silent scream, deep in your private dream._

* * *

**Milo Trivil, District Six Male.**

* * *

The trees bend and shape, branches turning into razor sharp claws that hang over the midnight sky like haunting drapes. They shake and whistle to the slight breeze, an echo deep within the forest calling out. I can't hear it and my head hurts, a dull thudding that bangs behind my eardrums and right behind my eyelids, like someone prodding them with a hot knife. I groan in pain and push the ball of my fist into my eyes... anything to stop the pain. It hurts. It hurts so much.

I hear a small whimper from out in the darkness. I look up, sniffing the air and straining my eyes despite the pain, using my nails to scratch past my outfit and onto my flesh, a substitute for the pain.

The whimper happens again.

It turns into a growl, a haunting, guttural growl that bounds around the trees, leaping from the trunks, igniting the hot tips of the claws that descend down swiftly, piercing my brain and making everything hurt. I scream for help, whimpers and babbling coming from my mouth. The voice... he's back. He's coming for me. My hands cover my head as the claws swipe down more and more, scratching and tearing at my skin. My hand hits something hard, right in front of me, and I panic, throwing myself across the ground to get away from him. The stale stench of death is clear in the air, invading my nose and clogging up my dull mind.

My lips close together, the faint taste of something meaty between my teeth.

Panic hits me and I'm shoving my fist in my mouth, fingers probing my teeth to find meat chunks lodged between them. Tears prick at my eyes and the sense of disgust is clear in my mind. A sharp shooting pain rockets through my skull, causing me to scream once more, eyes ready to burst and ears ringing.

Another whimper happens, once again turning into a growl.

"Milo..."

The voice strikes me to my core and I'm wrapping my arms around my knees, rocking myself back and forth, trying so very hard to bury my ears between my knees to keep him away.

"You won't get away. You can't get away. Every time you close your eyes from now on, I'll be there, watching and waiting for you to come to me."

He's out there, somewhere, hidden by the shrouds of the darkness, watching and waiting with his bloodshot eyes and bared teeth ready to sink into flesh. I did the same. I don't know who; but the taste of bitter blood is layered in my mouth, lingering.

"Take another bite of her. Go on, you know you want to."

"No!"

"M-M-Milo?"

"Leave me alone!"

No matter how hard I try to block him out, the words slip past my fingertips and shoot in my brain, like a bullet, exploding in my mind until it's but the only thought I can think clearly on. My body is shaking violently; my hands keep slipping from my ears and knees, sleek with sweat and salty tears. I hear the rustle of the leaves, the sound of the biting wind that carries the whispers of Titus. I peel open my eyes, everything blurry and distorted. The claws line the sky and narrow in, waiting to summon the death sentence. Shadows begin to form on the ground and move, shaping and transforming before my very eyes, touching my boot and then scurrying away. One line of light illuminates a mane of red hair and the open, raw rip in her arm that could only be from my teeth, painted with the blood that lingers in the back of my throat. Her eyes are open and cold, lifeless, swallowed by the shadows as they whisk away her body into the night. I hear the murmurs and whimpering once more.

"Give in my son!"

"No! Leave me alone!"

The ground beneath my feet begins to rock and shake, knocking my knees to the floor. I brace myself, squinting eyes and the dullness behind my eyes throbbing, like someone dancing on my eyeballs. I strain to see the answer but there's only a face, a bright, rounded face, pressed up almost in mine. I can feel their breath on my heated cheeks, the shaky rhythm of their heartbeat loud and clear in my ears. They growl; a spray of spit raining down on my face with snarled teeth pulled back into a gruesome smile. There's chunks of human flesh encased between their teeth, tongue lolling around and playing with a vein that, with a swift crunch, pops and oozes blood down their chin.

I scream, thrashing out. I hit something and the voice squeals, a contrast to their image. Everything is messed up. I stagger to my feet and brace myself with thin air, the sound of leaves crunching underneath weight booming in my mind. I thrash my head around, a warrior's instinct within me coming to life. My fists are clenched and my tongue clicks, building the saliva to rid me of the taste and the sin I committed. Not anymore; tonight, Titus will die, he will be out of my head.

The sound rockets and I hear the heavy footsteps running, getting quieter and quieter.

"You can't hide from me!" I shout to the darkness, unbalanced on my feet as I chase after the creature.

"Catch me and I'll leave." they sneer, their voice ominous within the trees, sounding like it comes from all around me.

I run and run, tripping on the dead arms of people and falling to the ground, losing my breath next to the shadowy claws that tease my flesh, daring me to move so they can encase me within their darkened hell. The heavy breaths of my escapee is nearby, submerged into the everlasting darkness. I thrash around and pull myself to my feet, swiping away the tips that snag against my uniform and rip. I wait and listen after another bout of running - chasing the heavy stomps of the person that has forever tormented me from the afterlife - I wait, in an open surrounded, glistened by the red light that leaks on the ground. A small shadow creeps across the floor and stops.

I snarl and flex my fingers, stepping forward with unsteady steps.

He can't hide forever - I spent my entire childhood living in the fear of becoming like him. And now, I am him, and he is me, but to rid myself of him, he must die once more. He will only stop if I kill him; his last breath at my hands. I try to push the thoughts of the girl that I murdered to the back of my mind and focus, the swaying trees above waiting and watching like birds of prey, their tendrils encasing the sky and ready to imprison me. If I give in like he did, I'll only fall to it easily. I need to fight it; fighting it might make it go away.

I hear the gruesome growl once more and place my hands on his shoulders, a snarl escaping both his lips and mine. I rip them away from their shadowy protection, launching them across the open space, landing on the ground. They growl again and I stagger forward, watching the blurred form rise to their feet and attempt to escape. Why escape? You never let me. You always held me back, and now, I'm doing the same. He kicks and growls, a wild animal trapped by my hands. I swing a fist out that lands directly in his face. He falls and whimpers, another contrast to his animal form.

"M-M-Milo, p-p-please."

The form shifts to the tearful face of Noelle, wet cheeks and wide eyes. Her lips quiver before pulling back, revealing pointed teeth dipped in blood. The face morphs to that of my uncle once more; bloodshot eyes of a cannibal. I throw my weight on top of him, forcing myself down so he doesn't squirm. I want to speak every single word of hatred I have for him, but it all dies on my tongue, the dull thudding behind my eyes growing so much in strength, it overpowers my other sense. It's like water in my ears, too. I place my hands either side of their face, surprised to not find at least a patch of stubble. They growl again, spit flying into my face, voice boarding on an angry scream that tries to pierce my drums.

I snake my hand behind their neck, fighting away the force being pushed against me. In position, and with a swift flick, I hear the sickening crunch of their neck snapping so easily. A thud happens somewhere in the darkness, but I push myself away, the face of my uncle now changing back. Horrified, I see Noelle, a bruise around her neck with eyes wide and pleading, also colourless.

I squeeze my eyes shut and peel them open once more, the face that of my uncle's once more. He's dead. He's finally gone.

"You can't get rid of me," the lips begin to move, eyes turning ever so slowly towards me. "You are me, Milo. We are the same person. Now, why don't you take a bite?"

* * *

**Twill Mousseline, District Eight Female.**

* * *

The sight of the little girl from Six in the sky is enough to make me feel sick to my stomach. There's not many more left - me, her district partner, the boy from Nine and then the three Careers that still stand, hopefully divided. I could do this. I could actually walk away. Before, I was against the thought of surviving, but tried nonetheless. Then, it was a burning desire as I slit the throat of Twelve - his eyes will never leave my mind - and then it dwindled, ignited once more by the similar act against the girl from Ten.

Worse of all? She was Nate's ally. I pull my knees up underneath my chin and breathe heavily. Nate's alliance is completely gone now; the Three boy killed at the bloodbath, the girl I killed and then the recent death of the girl from Twelve, her ally another on my tally. In a twisted sense, we're all bonded, connected, killed and killers, district partners and allies and friends and lovers and everything. They weren't joking when they knotted our lives altogether.

The knife in my boot cuts into my skin lightly. I can't bear to stare at it - two types of blood are stained against the silver and forever will be. I shouldn't dwell on it; I'm sure other tributes are forced into exactly the same. I scrub my eyes harshly and try to react to the all-consuming darkness. With each death, the arena is getting darker and darker, shadows creeping up the trees and swallowing the ground beneath my boots.

I didn't see her face - it made it easier than Twelve. His eyes constantly bore into my skull every time I squeeze my eyes shut. She didn't say anything as I pulled the blade along her throat. Her heart didn't even race; she expected her death to come. The sickening knot in my stomach tells me I'm no better than a Career, whilst the mental voice in my head rewards me with thoughts of my home and being able to return.

It's always going to be a choice of selfishness - your life over another.

I hear a small ding sound and look up, the shadows of the parachute making it obvious. It lands nearby - next to a stump - and I crawl weakly over to grab it. Popping the canister open and retrieving the flashlight, I smile, flicking the switch and looking at the piece of paper.

_Not long left, Twill. Keep going. This should make it easier -V_

Velvet doesn't even understand how much she's helped me. I flick the switch off, determined to save the battery. I scrunch the paper up and tuck it into my pocket, a constant reminder of why I'm breaking apart my sanity; to continue to live.

I struggle to my feet and begin to walk towards the red light that sneaks through the dense shadows.

There shouldn't be many days left. Now there's only six, a feast should be announced and the final battle will soon commence. I feel slightly relieved and terrified in knowing that four of my final opponents are old - seventeen to eighteen - whilst only one is young. But, despite being young, I remember the boy from Six being roughly built with calloused hands and a baby's face. Killing older teenagers is the only thing I can find good about this; I'd rather attack someone my age or older than a helpless little child who should never, ever be put in a position like this.

I step over a few roots, my torch in my hand. I don't want to waste it. She sent me this for a reason - something must be planned soon, something us tributes can't see but the mentors can from their screens. It's obviously something behind that wall. Can the viewers see it? Are they cheering and giddy with excitement for it to happen? A few stray branches snap into my face, hisses of pain escaping between my teeth.

I continue no matter what, keeping my head clear.

It's because of that that I don't see or even feel the branches clear, just for a moment, before I slip. My hands windmill but it's too late; I land directly on my back, submerging underneath water that quickly engulfs me. Panic sets in and I begin to scream and thrash, memories of my brother's poor death penetrating my mind. They just left him there - buried under the cold water whilst his skin turned blue, then purple, white from the salt. He was in so much pain. The small fishes that populated the river decided to take a visit into his cage, tiny razor teeth ripping at his already dead flesh. The entire Games he stayed there. Being moved would have disturbed the fish that would later attack many more tributes, even taking the leg of one tribute and ripping it open until bone was visible. It's only then do I realise that my arms are pinned down. I thrash them around, only to find them pinned by something - which, with awkward finger movements - I find to have the same feel as roots.

I've become entangled; like an animal in a snare.

I don't want to die. I thrash my head around. I don't want to die yet. Not like this, not like Harlas did. My throat burns from the salty water filling my lungs, weighing my body down and suffocating it from the insides out. Continuing with my struggle, I managed to knock my arm free, opening my eyes for the first time as I pull my head from out of the water.

I take a heavy, harsh breath, trying to gain as much oxygen as possible. I manage to rip the roots from my other arm and rub my sore wrists, tears pricking at my oversensitive eyes.

My hand finds the torch underneath the water. I curl my fingers around it, accidentally flicking the switch. The dull yellow light illuminates the water - a sickening crimson colour - small ripples clear. My head spins from the thought of what it could be, my lips idly closing and opening, tasting the metallic taste of cooper.

Blood.

It's actually real blood. Not fake or even a substitute. I know this taste - when I smashed the bottle over the woman's head, a spray hit me in the face, my mouth open. It tasted like copper. This tastes like copper. Bile rises and spews from my mouth, spilling into the water. I rise hastily and wade through it, surprised to find it's a lot bigger than what it seems; and a lot deeper. The red water hits my knees and takes almost a minute for me to hit dry land. I shine the light outwards and hold back the shock of the river that seems to stretch for a while. How long have they managed to hide this?

I fall to my knees again and sob, shaking and shivering, heart racing and beads of sweat mingling on my forehead with droplets of the blood.

The pain is becoming too much. Every time I rebuild my sanity and my morals - giving myself solid, selfish reasons for my actions - they break it down, knocking down my wall with a heavy kick of their glossed shoes. I don't know how much more I can take of constantly being knocked back down - one thing after the other. Their toy isn't indestructible; enough kicking and it will break.

* * *

**Azolla Midwell, District Four Female.**

* * *

Cyra's words play on my mind as I continue to walk, head low and ears alert. Was I really being stupid? She was right, only one of us could ever win, yet I killed her through the sole reason that she killed Marlin. No, scratch that, I killed her also because she's not only competition - going back to the one winner - but because Cyra was a person who deserved death. If it was someone else who killed Marlin, and I wanted vengeance, I might feel remotely remorseful. But I don't; and if anything, I just did both Honor and Marlin a favour. With Cyra down, their competition lessens. I mean, true to it, Cyra wasn't much competition - her only kills being a little boy and an injured Career - but a Career nonetheless, and that itself means sponsors and votes. She could have easily survived on that alone.

I step over a log and try to keep concentrated. I feel like River, actually. When she won the Games, and came out to the weak reception of Creek, she said she was distraught. She loved Creek but the matter of fact is is that River lied about being sweet and innocent in order to fool her fellow Careers. I guess, I guess Creek didn't like the deception behind it all. I feel like her right now. I acted a little bit more blonde than I am, a little bit more ditzy than I am, a little more naive. I allowed them all to believe me as an idiot; when, really, I'm just like them.

I'm a trained killer. I'm a Career.

A Career who fell for a boy, like me, from the same home as me, yet vastly different. I feel guilty if I'm honest. Marlin allowed himself to be himself around me. Whereas, me, well, I hid it all and acted like something else in order to cope and carry on. I deceived the boy that I eventually avenged.

I continue to move forward when I hear a noise. The grey, concrete wall comes into view, slightly curved as it towers up. I've never seen this. No, correction, I vaguely remember it, but I ignored it because of the crows that attacked me and Marlin. I scan the darkened skies trying to find the feathered creatures, unable to find them or even hear them. Where have they gone? The noise wasn't them; come to think of it, I haven't heard them for a while, not long after Cyra's death.

I close in on the wall, hands out front. I slowly slide my harpoon to the ground, hearing the dulled thud.

My hands run across the wall that seems to speak. With every little touch, I hear a groan. The tiny rocks and loose pebbles cut my hand, but I ignore it to listen to the wall. Another groan as I shift my hand. Panic rises in me when I know the sound. It sounded familiar, but now, now I know exactly what's behind there. I back up hastily, tripping over my own two feet. I grab my harpoon swiftly and rise to my feet, turning around and running with all my might. I pump my arms and legs with all my energy.

That noise will forever haunt my mind. I know what's going to happen; I know what's planned for the final five, the big finale even. A noise like that can only mean one of three things, and I can tell the difference, all it took was some patience. The small branches whip into my face. I stumble and fall over an unearthed root. I hit the ground hard, face first, breath taken away. I turn around and try to hide my disgust when I see the dead body of the little girl from Six - so small and young - arms bright red and ripped open. The sight disgusts me, yet, I crawl forward. Teeth marks are clear on her arms, red uniform ripped open. Some of the teeth marks are denser, chunks of her flesh ripped from the bone.

It looks like she's been mauled by an animal.

My mind swirls and swivels in disgust, a torrent of fear and paranoia and guilt and confusion, all settling in my mind and stomach. Bile rises in my stomach and throat, but I hold back from being sick. The scent is fresh, and, besides that, I only saw her face in the sky but ten to fifteen minutes ago. The animal could be nearby. I grip onto the harpoon tighter and pull myself to my feet, watching around me warily.

I hear some noises and a rustle of leaves. My head snaps around to all of the trees around me, trying to find the animal I soon will have to spear. Instead, a shadow appears, and out steps a human. At first, I'm expecting a tribute whose stumbled across me by accident, maybe a Career or even the girl from Eight once more. Instead, besides the red uniform, the boy's face is coated in blood all around his mouth, stained and sticky, dripping slowly.

I feel sick once more when he steps underneath the moonlight's rays, proving to be Six's district partner. His eyes are bloodshot and feral, wide and angry, jaw and nose dipped in the red blood of the district partner no doubt. He doesn't even look that human; he looks like a monster. He growls, proving my point.

I said I was going to have to kill an animal - and as I raise my harpoon ready to fight, ignoring the guilty pressure in my skull - I know that he is simply that; an animal.

* * *

******Frightened Child by Natalie Imbruglia.**

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******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Noelle Alcott, District Six.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Olive, once again, you've proven that your little tributes are simply amazing and unique. You have so many ideas it's ridiculous half the time and I'm jealous. Noelle was amazing but she wasn't going to go far on her own - or with a crazy Milo for that matter - and I think her time had come. She was brilliant whilst she was around.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**One more cannot reach final five. Who would you like to not make it? Remember, there's Honor, Ajax, Azolla, Milo, Twill and Dagan.**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**If you even remotely understood Milo's POV, well done, you get a gold star because you really wasn't meant to. I tried to get in the mind of someone under the influence of drugs. Since I doubt it'll be mentioned whatsoever - Milo's downfall were the pills from Wisp. However, not really from him, since the Capitol was influencing what sponsor gifts Milo and Noelle received. They wanted a show.**

**Small chapters, lesser POVs yadadadada.**

**So, yeah.**

**The river is getting bigger and the wall is making noises that Azolla has worked out. It's pretty obvious now; but do you know?**

**Final six has arrived. We're almost there! Three more chapters and then a Victor's chapter!**


	17. Beam Me Up

**Beam Me Up.**

_Let me be lighter, I'm tired of bein' a fighter._

* * *

**Azolla Midwell, District Four Female.**

* * *

I keep my eyes on him, unwavering and refusing to let go. He cocks his head from side to side, constantly growling under his breath, eyes looking beyond that of a human. I doubt he's anywhere in there; I'm guessing he finally broke. My knuckles hurt from the tight grip on my harpoon, but I refuse to let go. I keep my guard up and watch the boy from Six with careful eyes as he staggers more and more into the pointless light. His foot hits the dead body of his district partner but he doesn't react; he gives it a glance but nothing more.

I take a step back carefully, in time with his step forward.

A part of me doesn't want to fight him. I'm not looking to kill a child whose clearly out of their mind. But, I guess, if I don't do it, the Capitol might. If he did kill his district partner - and then so clearly take a bite of her - I doubt he's winning favors with the Capitol whatsoever. It's not my place to make that call, though, and I gulp down the harsh lump in my throat and squeeze my eyes shut to rid them of bitter tears on the verge of building.

He staggers closer, nose twitching as he sniffs the air like a wild animal. The blood on his face, stained, is much more apparent the closer he comes.

I scan his body quickly for any signs of a weapon, but there's nothing. His hands are coated in blood, so he could have used that, but then again, he could have tried saving his district partner from dying... or used his hands to rip open her flesh to devour it. The instant thought makes me sick and I have to swallow down the bile hard once more. My breath comes out in short bursts and it's only then I realise that I'm actually scared. Scared of him? Maybe. Scared in general? Maybe.

I've never truly been scared in this arena. Frightened, maybe, but never so scared that my core rocks with my breaths. I wasn't scared when the crows attacked, since I knew nothing about them at that point. I didn't think they'd rip Marlin's eyes out. I wasn't scared when I found out Marlin had no eyes, that was more sickness and sadness. I wasn't scared when I bumped into the girl from Eight, or Cyra, and I certainly wasn't scared about trying to kill them and or succeeding. I've always came close to being scared, but only ever being frightened.

Now. Now I feel scared, and I can't point out why. Maybe it's because this is a boy, so young and harsh, ripped apart by emotional trauma and transformed into a beast. Maybe it's because I'm getting closer to the end, and I know what the Gamemakers have instore for their big finale. Maybe it's because this was the same position that Coral reached before she died.

Maybe it's everything, all piled on top of each other.

He steps forward again and I step back, panic rising in me as my foot snags on something and I lose my balance. It happens so quick. The harpoon, surprisingly, flies from my hand as I land hard on my back. The breath in my lungs are taken away and I instantly lock my eyes on the discarded harpoon, out of my grip and dipping into the darkness. I hear the growl and try to stand up quickly, only for a strong body to be pushed down on my chest, keeping me down. The horror of everything flashes before my eyes.

I came here for Coral. For Coral. A sister who, despite everything, I still loved. I loved her despite every single argument. I loved her despite her popularity, her status as the popular and beautiful one, whilst my status was the awkward, ugly sister. I loved her despite the fact that her friends were one of the few people who minorly tormented me into being an outcast. I loved her because we had the same blood; she was my sister and I was hers. Our bond was always going to be strong.

Her death wasn't quick, though, and my mind traces the steps it took to get to that moment. She had grown injured over time. The Career alliance had been attacked by, what that year was dubbed as the "Anti-Careers", a group formed by about four different tributes from four different districts. They were capable, sure, and managed to clear out two of the six Careers; the girl from District Two and Coral's district partner. The attack had left the remaining ones with injuries, though - Coral had a dislocated shoulder, courtesy from the large male from District Eleven.

Eventually, the girl from District One fell to her injuries, but the tape proved that the boy from District Two helped, slowly doping her medicine with a poisonous plant. When Coral and her remaining ally found out, they fought, resulting in Coral being injured again - a stab wound to her lower abdomen. She could only go for so long, and then, she died in the arms of the male from District One, who went on to come in second place. I remember the glossed-over eyes staring at him, silently begging him to save her. I remember crying my eyes out, my only sibling dead. Mother and father hugged me, petted me, told me that everything would be alright and that she was in a better place.

But she wasn't. She was dead, in an arena, away from home. And I'm going to end up the same way in a foolish attempt to avenge her.

I snap back to the present, the boy from Six leaning in closer with a snarl on his face. The smell of coppery blood and raw flesh invades my nose and makes me gag, but it's his eyes that capture me. They're glossed and spaced-out, pupils so tiny and bloodshot whites. I start to shake and wiggle underneath his grip, but it's so strong, I guess the adrenaline has given him more strength. Tears prick at my eyes and I scream, opening my mouth and pelting out the emotions within. It confuses him for a moment and I fight back, pushing all my strength in my knees, bringing them up to knee him in the back. He falls forward, landing over my face, but I have enough energy to shake him out and free myself. I claw the ground and begin to crawl hastily towards my harpoon, but a strong hand clamps around my ankle and begins to drag me backwards, back towards him. I spin over and look at him for a moment, just before my boot swiftly comes down on top of his hand. He shouts out in pain and lets go, giving me enough chance to curl my fingers back the wooden staff of my harpoon.

I spin around and throw it as hard as I can, just like a spear.

But it soars through the air and misses completely, the boy having disappeared from sight. I quickly snap my head in every direction but find the clearing is truly abandoned - apart from the dead body of the little girl. My heart drops and I know, I just know that I feel happy he left. I didn't want to kill him and I didn't want to be killed. I mean, I would have killed him if I had to, but it wouldn't have felt right, and no amount of convincing would have changed that. I slowly pull myself to my feet, flexing my fingers before collecting my harpoon. I glance at the little girl one more time before I start off into the forest once more.

It takes but a few steps before I hear noise and I stop, the only sound being that of my heart and head thudding in rhythm. Maybe I'm slowly going crazy too.

But then her hair appears again, illuminated by the light once more. The girl from District Eight.

I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. But she's older, older than the boy. I even think she's my age, actually. She's armed and she fought back, she's a fighter, it wouldn't just be the fact that I'm killing someone completely off-guard. No. No, she can't fight me back, she can try to save herself. He couldn't; he was too much of a monster to seperate mind from reality. My feet start to move before my mind has made up an answer, but, I guess that is my answer.

I killed Cyra with no remorse. I guess I need to learn how to do that more often if I want to survive.

And so, carefully, I begin to stalk after the girl that escaped me once already. She might have assumed me dumb, too, but that was everyone's big mistake.

* * *

**Milo Trivil, District Six Male.**

* * *

My body slams into the trees as I continue to run, hand cradled against my chest for protection. I wince and groan, eyes squeezed shut, running like a wounded animal from the predator.

"You and me, we're the same, boy!"

"No!" I scream, slamming into the next trunk.

"You can't run or hide much longer. The quicker you accept it, the quicker you'll heal." he sneers, voice coming from all directions like a bullet towards my brain; sharp and lethal.

"No!"

I refuse to believe it will happen. I refuse to believe that, somehow, I can end up like him. My mother feared the same thing and it ended up against her. She soaked her brain in drugs just so she could cope with the tormenting and bullying; that was when she was a child, being his sister, and now, I'm her son, his nephew, messed up and destined to follow the family path of losing their minds. The next tree pops up from out of the shadows and I run straight into it, startled and frightened as I slam against the floor, whimpering and crying. I can see him coming towards me. I jump up and react, snarling and growling, lashing out my clenched fists and snarling. He steps back and smiles, tapping his chin as he slips into the darkness. My hand idly dabs my chin, sticky and soaking wet. Then, my hands are frantically scratching and tearing at my chin, coming away dipped in red, my skin trapped underneath my blood-painted nails. The stinging pain does nothing but encourage me. It's a sin. This is my punishment. I deserve this pain. I deserve to be tormented and bullied. I am like him.

I vaguely remember the monster that attacked me from out of the boy, waving a harpoon. I could have died, but when I stopped her, I ran. I managed to overcome the urges of cannibalism and murder to escape with my life. The dull thudding behind my eyeballs don't stop, though, and I continue running from the inaudible buzzing that scatters my eardrums.

I barely see the wall coming up close.

I manage to stop just before running into it, red hands scanning the wall since, well, I didn't know it existed.

But panic seizes my heart and my fingers curl against the stone, blood dripping down from the pain as I dig my nails harder against the cement. My hands make a bloody ball and I punch, punch, punch the wall to be allowed to escape. To be able to escape the arena. To be able to escape Titus. To be able to escape my mind, my sins, my problems and my justice.

I punch it harder, hearing the crack in my hand. It hurts; but not as much as my head, my heart, my broken soul. I hit it again.

And again.

And again.

My fist becomes weak and my other hand takes over, punching again and again until I hear another crack that must be my bones snapping, followed by the numbing pain that rocks my body to the very core split in two.

I can't take it no more.

I can't become what destiny has planned for me. I can't let my life play out like this.

I'm not an animal. I'm a boy. I'm a young teenager. I am Milo Trivil. I am fifteen years old. I have an older brother and a younger sister. My uncle was Titus. My mother was tormented. I was tormented. I killed someone. I took a bite of their flesh. I killed again. I ate again. I allowed myself to succumb to life's wishes for me. I allowed myself to become the thing I feared most.

But I'm still me.

I'm still just a boy. I still have my whole life ahead of me.

I don't want to die; I don't want to become like Titus.

A loud, sudden groan alerts me, but I continue to punch, ignoring the sound. I hit harder and harder with my broken hands, and the wall seems to groan and rumble in response. It's like a living thing, complaining about the abuse I'm dealing to it. I can't stop, though. The pain helps me stay sane, stay focused, stay Milo and not Titus. The wall groans again, only this time, it's louder and more mechanical. As quick as a flash, the wall cracks, just a little, and water the colour of blood leaks through finely.

I stand back and look carefully as the crack goes wider and wider, larger and larger, spreading and opening and allowing more water to escape. Yet, I can't peel my eyes away as it begins to crumble, the spout of water growing faster and harder.

I don't want to die; but it's for the best. For everyone.

* * *

**Ajax Rogue, District Two Male.**

* * *

I look at Honor and she looks back, a smile of complication on her face. I smile softly back and follow her lead through the dense forest. Every time she slides to the side, I follow. It's amazing how in tune we've become. And, to think of it, how easy we've had it. After departing the Careers, we had one problem and that was Lamont, who we easily killed. After that, we had nothing. No Careers who were stalking us - though Cyra could have been for all we know, Azolla could too - and no stray tributes who we accidentally ran into. Our time has been... uneventful. I'm not complaining, no, not really, I just never expected the likes of this to happen.

Every time they trained us, they would shout at us. Shout obscenties and foul words which, half the time, I just rolled my eyes and laughed their voices off. The ones who pushed the hardest were the Victors that were training us to become like them one day. They were always the toughest and meanest; I guess that's because they experienced this, and wanted us to be fully prepared.

Altogether, since the Purge, District Two has claimed ownership six Games as their owns, resulting in six Victors.

Evander and Signus are legendary and only train the best of the best. They train the upper years, and I was no exception. I started with them early, though, back when I joined. I showed tons of skill and Axel was already in their class. I simply had a few good words thrown around and was allowed to join. Cyra was below me. The supposed tribute, Golda, was my class and boy, she must be pissed, she trained harder than me and her shot has disappeared.

After them is Clifford and Maverick. Both good, both work well together, and yet, two different styles of teaching. Clifford was calm and logical, whilst Maverick would laugh and flirt with the females.

Lastly, Brick and Amity. Amity is, so far and for another year, our only female Victor. Brick was cocky as fuck and tormented the younger years he trained and, from looking at the Victors, was the least affected by his Games. Maverick turned to alcohol. Clifford turned to yoga and things like that. Amity was a broken wreck. Brick was... just the same as he entered. And, of course, Amity being the only female led to a lot of ridicule for her training; she made her tributes work on their weapons and didn't want to train them.

In fact, it was Amity that would often spew and shout at us for being stupid, reckless, not taking it seriously. Her Games tormented her so much that she would tell us to either try harder to give it in, because she knew that idiots didn't win, only talent, and even then, luck would come out on top. Sometimes she broke down and cried. One time in particular, she was shouting at a boy to my left for being reckless, and he started to recall the final moments where Amity's life was but on a string. She flipped. She broke down and cried. She didn't fight him or argue, she just, she cried. When she calmed down, she gave the group a lecture on how the Games were not a joke, they were serious, that they weren't even worth the trouble.

For a trainer telling that to a group of possible future tributes, it doesn't look too good.

But then again, Amity's state was clear. I almost feel bad for her.

That's what worries me the most, actually. When Honor asked about my reasons, I was confused. For the first time ever, I was confused. Before and during the Capitol, I was determined and fiery, my sole reason leading me forward being to rekindle the name that Axel had, inadvertently, dragged through the mud with his premature death. I wanted to honour his death properly and restore the family shame.

But now... or, when Honor asked, I couldn't be sure. Why did I come here, besides being the chosen male? At one point in my life, I had calmed down and decided against appealing for the spot of tribute. Then, well, I topped the scores by complete accident and was chosen. I had no choice, I guess, but I let myself believe that the reason was for Axel. In a sense, I did it to help me cope because frankly, I don't want to end up like Axel and I don't want to end up like Amity.

I don't want to die but I don't want to spend the rest of my life tormented and broken, the Games having scarred my soul permantely.

I could turn to yoga like Clifford, or alcohol like Maverick, but is that a life I want? I don't know.

Every since Honor asked me that question, I can no longer decide on what I want; whether it's to live or to die. Neither option sounds appealing anymore and frankly, I'm pissed about it, I'm pissed about the way my mind has tricked me into a state of complete confusion.

"Ajax?"

I snap out of everything and look at Honor, her eyebrows turned downwards and her lips pressed into a line. "Yeah?"

"Final five," she whispers, and quickly, I look to the sky, seeing the face of the District Six male disappearing. I missed the anthem and cannon, clearly. "There's only five of us left."

I know what her words mean and yet, I don't want them to spill from her mouth. I can literally feel my heart sinking, just by looking at her sudden saddened face. I gulp down the harsh lump in my throat and nod hastily, finding my whole body working well and truly against me. I see the glance of Honor's bottom lip quivering and before I know it, I'm opening my arms and wrapping them around her. Back in District Two, I would have never, ever showed compassion. I never liked anyone, for that matter. But Honor's different. Honor's always been different. She wasn't pretty like some girls in my district, or a complete psychopath like my fellow trainees. Honor was... no, Honor is Honor. My mind's even allowing me to think of her as dead. Before, that was never a possibility - I never meant for myself to get this attached to someone.

Honor pulls away and opens her mouth, but I place my finger to it quickly. "It's fine, Honor. It was bound to happen at some point. We couldn't have gone on forever as a twosome."

My words betray me and that hurts. It makes everything hurt more than I imagined. I can literally feel my whole world crashing for some reason, and I never, ever expected it to feel this way. I cough awkwardly, my throat dry, and Honor nods again.

"I think we should go two different ways. One go left, the other right. That way maybe we'll bump into the other tributes." Honor says quietly.

I know what she means by that, too. She means bump into the others tribute so that we kill them, or they kill us. She knows that neither of us want to face the other in the final battle. Bumping into the other tributes will mean the higher chance of one of us dying and the other being able to go to the final battle and will, conscious clear from the thought of killing the only ally you could ever trust. I nod and Honor switches her sword, wiping her eyes and then sliding into a mass of trees.

I'm left there on my own.

Amity was right - this is no game, but every game needs a winner. I just don't know whether I want to be that winner or simply a loser.

My thoughts are cut by the sound of a loud, crashing sound that thunders, followed by the unmistaken sound of a fast-paced rush of water.

* * *

******Beam Me Up by P!nk.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Milo Trivil, District Six.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Bells, you were the only person to hand me a tribute with a history related to a canon character when I gave everyone that choice. With Milo, I was able to extend Titus' canon shot and make it real. Without Milo, it wouldn't be possibly, and I thank you for that. Milo was a great character, kind and generous, a haunting past that eventually got the best of him. I'll truly miss him!**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**I'm not sure this time. I guess I can ask you what your top three guesses are, alongside your preferences?**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**So yes! The wall has been revealed, and I bet you're disappointed. It was always meant to be a dam, really, contained blood water. Thus, the river getting wider, Azolla knowing the sound (District Four and the sea, remember), and a bit of irony; an avalanche killed Titus, so Milo died by an avalanche of water, I guess you could call it.**

**Anyway. There is one more chapter before the final three. Two more tributes will die then.**

**And anyone whose been seeing the whole idea with blood being the main element in all senses, well done! Blood is a main component in the arena, but also the tributes; blood (family) is thicker than water (strangers) and it gives the tributes some sense since they're their because of fallen relatives, but they want to go home to remaining relatives.**

**Two more chapters and I can't believe it's almost over!**


	18. It Ends Tonight

**It Ends Tonight.**

_When darkness turns to light, it ends tonight._

* * *

**Twill Mousseline, District Eight Female.**

* * *

"_Well done to the remaining tributes. For your participation, we are now holding a feast. Each of you needs something, wants something, and at the crack of dawn, it will be within a backpack marked with your district number by the Cornucopia. Think about it, tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor._"

Gregor Flack's voice disappears, the static in the air following.

I can imagine how entertaining I must be to the Capitol audience. They must love watching me cry, break, kill for the sake of selfish survival.

I've become some toy for them to play with. It's not right, but who am I to argue and fight against the country that apparently "feeds us". I sigh and allow a few tears to leak from my tired eyes. I'm tired. I'm so very tired of it all. Every time I feel like I can make a fight, I can continue, I get pushed two steps backwards. It's almost like people are waiting for me to fall. Then again, I'm sure they are. I'm sure they are just waiting around perfectly for the right Career to take the glory. I mean, if I can recall, a Career only won two years ago. From District One, actually, which means a larger fight for the others to redeem themselves.

It's about them. It has always been about them. The Hunger Games was made for people like the Careers - to kill and compete in a bloody sport - and the rest of us, we are simply the targets, the practices, the things to be disposed of before glory can be obtained. We are like food for the monsters. Like prey for the predators. Like sacrifices to the almighty Gods.

But we fought back. Careers winning are becoming scarce. Other districts are trying harder - encouraging children to be more prepared - and luck has been on our sides. It could be on my side, too. I mean, I'm the only non-Career left. Wait. No, no I'm not. The male from District Nine is left too. Us two alongside three Careers from the three differing districts. At this point, honestly, I'm happy with either of us winning. Actually, no, no, I'm not giving up. I refuse to be constantly knocked further and further into the ground.

But if it can't be me. If... if I die, then I want him to win. A Career winning is a slap in the faces of all the grieving families who lost their child.

I hear the rustle of leaves and footsteps, but choose to ignore it.

The arena can make you paranoid and you have ever right to be. If you aren't paranoid, you aren't a human. My fingers idly flick the switch on the torch handed to me by sponsor, the light briefly illuminating my path so that I know I'm not going to be swallowed by anymore rivers. The thought of the blood and the water, so deep and dark... my other hand quickly rubs and scratches my face, desperate to rid myself of the thought that, that, that I almost drained in someone else's blood.

There's another rustle again, but this time, louder. I stop this time and wait, finger hovering mid-air to just flick the switch on the torch once more.

Maybe this is what I deserve; the fear of the unknown and the fact that, at any given time, a remaining Career can appear behind me and just slice my throat. Guilt hollows out my heart. That's all that I done - prey on the vulnerable and the weak, all unexpected and thinking safe. I gave neither the boy from Twelve or the girl from Ten a chance. I just ripped my knife across their throat for my own selfish desire.

Because at the end of the day, everyone needs to be selfish in a scenario like this... but how can you justify taking someone's life?

How can you honestly just live through life, knowing that you cut another life short? You could argue that you had to, it was a game that needed playing, you wanted your life and all that, but is it enough to help you sleep at night? I doubt it. I doubt anyone could sleep through the entire night, knowing that the person they murdered will never get to grow old, fall in love, have children and everything...

...I wonder how I'll cope. I almost fell apart at the seams last time, barely able to stitch myself back together. This time... this time I'll be permanently damaged.

There won't be no rough stitching and mending. I'll be too afraid to let anyone close, and in turn, keep anyone that was originally right by my side. Kimberlee might have saved me, but I don't think I could look at her knowing that the blood - no matter how invisible - will always be marring my skin.

I strain my ears again when I hear another footstep and the breaking of some branches.

I also hear the rush of water, but I know that. I know the river is getting larger, and my guess is that the wall was, in fact, a dam contained the crimson depths. When I take another step, I hear the pad of water. I flick the light and look down at my boots, a thin layer of red water covering what was the dirty, maple-leaved ground just seconds ago. The arena is being flooded.

A torrent of emotions just ride through my body. I hate water. I can't swim. I... I have a fear of drowning. After watching Harlas die underneath the watery hell, I know that I can't bear the same fate. I can't drown, I just can't. I'm so focused on my own, darkest fear, that I don't hear the splash of water until hands are pushing me down onto the ground. I freak and thrash about, knowing that a tribute has found me at last, not the other way around. My torch goes flying from my hand - and as I wrestle and roll around against the tribute - I try to grab the knife contained in my boot. A slap comes out of nowhere and hits me across the cheek, sending stars to my eyes and the taste of blood in my mouth.

I jerk my knee upwards and the tribute grunts - a lot more feminine, so I know it's one of the Career girls - before sending another slap across my cheek.

In my daze, I'm weak, and two small hands manage to close around my neck. I can't even see my attacker. I claw the ground, desperate to reach the torch that has bounced into the darkness. The cold, thick blood water rushes down my suit, brushing against my skin and dampening my hair. I try to fight, two fists flying up and smacking wildly. I claw and punch, the vicegrip around my neck only growing tighter and tighter.

I can feel my heart slowing down and my head becoming light, like it's submerged in water. I know I'm about to die without even knowing which girl took my life.

Tears spring to my eyes and I silently pray to just wake up in bed, like this was all just some horrid nightmare. It won't happen, I know that. And, finally, the last little piece of my life just drifts from my mouth in two words.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

**Honor Elliot, District One Female.**

* * *

When I hear the cannon, my heart skips a beat. I'm instantly praying that Ajax is still alive, my eyes scanning the sky for the anthem, seal and face. My legs suddenly feel wobbly and I fall, catching myself by hugging the tree. He can't be dead... h-he just can't be. The anthem finally plays and I hold onto every hope that he isn't dead, not yet, please, not Ajax. The seal appears and fades, confirming, to my relief, that Ajax isn't dead. Instead, the girl from District Eight is officially out of the race, so to speak.

There's only four of us left. Knowing that Azolla is still alive actually worries me. Her score was one below mine, but I didn't think she'd make it this far. She seemed happy and bubbly, but I guess Marlin's death must have destroyed her. Well, pushed her further. One of the first nights in the arena, before Marlin's attack and death, we were sat around a fire roasting a bird. Cyra was chatting to Marlin and laughing, and being kind, he joined. Azolla looked from the side spitefully. Then, I remember her glancing in my direction and smiling sweetly, a quick shift in the attitude.

She thought she could hide her true self from me, but I knew. I knew that look and what it meant. I knew that there was more to Azolla Midwell than met the eye. She was far more... cunning, than I imagined, and knowing she's still alive actually worries. Everyone changes over time, the arena influencing our personalities and choices. I've become more warm to Ajax but hollow to my emotions, sinking further and further into the mask made for me. Azolla could have easily become more tactical and murderous, Marlin's death pushing her over the edge.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

But, besides Azolla, I have to worry about both Ajax and the boy from District Nine. Ajax... the thought of him brings a small nervousness through my heart.

We "bonded", as he called it. Destined to be friends and maybe more. I can't even imagine him dying... and that explains why I'm secretly wishing for his death. Maybe... maybe before we reach the Cornucopia, Nine or Azolla might find Ajax and kill him. But then I'm disagreeing, shaking my head and listening to my heart explain that I don't really want him dead, I just think I do. But, if he doesn't die, then it means I have to. I don't want to die and I don't want him to die.

Either way, I can't have my way. Either way, I'm going to lose my life or lose the boy that helped paint my mask full of differing emotions.

There's no clear answer because my head and heart are constantly at war.

I try to shake away all my thoughts and focus on trying to find my way back towards the red light. We moved away from it - nervous and sceptical about what could be down there, apart from the dead tributes from the bloodbath. Now, I need to head back. If what Ajax said was true, then most of the Cornucopia and surrounding areas must be soaked in red light. One red light for each deceased tribute, and now, twenty are dead; that means twenty red lights igniting the ground. I hear a slow slush and freeze, heart racing. Instead, I hear the small splash of something hitting my boot. I bend down and run my fingers across the top of my booted foot, surprised they are wet. But, as I take another step, I know that the water is building and building, smothering and swallowing the ground.

No. I can't let myself think about that either.

I continue walking and try to stop myself from thinking about Ajax and how he's doing... I called it off for all the mature, logical reasons. I need to remember that. I slip through the trees and stop, a large object hitting my boot. Something seems rather sinister about the large object. I can't bare to look down and I can't bear to know what it is. The water underneath must be moving fast, because the object pulls away and hits my boot lightly again. I gently bend over once more and touch it, surprised to find it smooth and metallic.

I hastily grab it, feeling the texture... a torch!

I flick the switch quickly and shine it down, horrified to see the water is red. I flash the light out quickly through the trees, stopping when I see a glimpse of red. I narrow the light on it, holding my breath when I see the girl from District Eight, dead, floating lightly on the waves. She sways back and forth, before slowly heading towards me, carried by the water. I instantly throw myself to the side and watch her drift past me, like nothing more than debris carried on a water's wave.

"Hello Honor." I hear the voice, knowing the name.

"Azolla?" I reply, suddenly gripping the sword in my hand a lot harder. "Where are you?"

I swing the torch around and around, painting shadows from the huddled trees. Then, I hit light hair and a pale, drawn face, eyes narrowed at me as two trees block her from my entire view.

She leaps forward surprisingly fast, and I have barely any time to raise my sword. Her harpoon comes flying out of nowhere and barely scrapes my side, ripping open my costume. I flick my wrist and send the sword out, hitting skin and hearing Azolla cry out. It's only responded when I feel the harpoon hit my leg - only a graze - the pain shooting through my lower body like adrenaline. I can barely see her, swinging my weapon out in complete darkness.

I manage to cut her again, the cry becoming more of a howl. I get hit again, piercing skin and drawing blood that moulds the fabric to my skin like glue. I swing and she swings, each of us calling out the other and getting hit, drawing blood from our skin and pain from our mouths. Sometimes, we miss, but it feels like we're going forever. I swing out the sword and miss completely, the motion taking me off-balanced and making me stumble.

"Honor. You or me," Azolla calls from somewhere in the darkness, her voice seemingly coming from every direction. "One of us will die soon. Just know that I appreciated you."

"And just know, Azolla, that I knew you were full of crap."

* * *

**Dagan Grove, District Nine Male.**

* * *

I wait, hidden in the Cornucopia that has become my home since the death. It's twisted, actually, before from this angle, I can see both Hayl and Nomen's dead bodies, coupled with the bloodbath victims. The only good thing I can make out of this situation is knowing that the dead bodies aren't exactly going rotten. The girl from Eleven, Ambrosia or something, is still as curly-haired and dark skinned as she was before she was murdered; absolutely no signs of her flesh dying bit by bit.

My eyes glance back to Hayl and lock on her form. A stained pool of crimson is the blanket for her body, but luckily, I can't see her eyes. I don't think I could bare it. I couldn't save her and I failed. I made a rookie mistake, when all this time, I've been playing this game for how I've known it. I've made sure each step is calculated, that every move is watched and admired from the Capitol, that, despite me being reckless, it would never have affected Hayl... and that's where I screwed up. I walked over to something that seemed like a trap, and, my gut was right, I just didn't expect her deluded, maniacal district partner.

I can remember the knife pressed against her neck and the silent pleas from her eyes. The thought only makes me angry that I didn't punish and torture Nomen longer, that I allowed him a pretty quick and easy death. I place the controller down and step out from the Cornucopia's shell. The other dead tributes are around still, painting a gruesome scene. I don't know why me and Hayl bothered to come down here. But, then again, I just wanted away from the woodlands that contain crows that are large and evil, a concrete wall that hides everything, and finally, shadows that loom thicker and thicker. The more obvious answer is to run for the light.

And we did that; just not realising that we ran straight into the waiting web of the Nomen-spider.

The boy from District Eleven is around the tail of the Cornucopia, and as I turn the corner, I can make out the way his head is almost decapitated from his neck. The other little boy from District Ten is nearby too, a deep cut in his chest. The male from District Three is on the other side, I know that, I remember seeing his crushed skull when me and Hayl walked down here.

The charred remains of Poppy are still here, too, blackened and crumbling. Her, alongside the girl from Eleven, make up the bloodbath victims. The last one, the boy from District Eight, he must have been taken out somewhere in the woodlands. Five dead bodies, wait, no, no, seven dead bodies. Hayl and Nomen get to join the others.

My chest feels hollow as I take another glimpse at her dead body before turning away again. I never expected to feel like this. Honestly, I didn't. When I asked for Hayl to be my ally, I never expected her to actually agree, and that's the truth. She seemed repulsed by me and I couldn't blame her. I mean, I'm calloused and rough, a broken boy trying to attract a perfect girl. Well, tried too, and it seemed to work.

A loud grinding sound alerts me and I look around, watching the dirt-covered ground peel open like a pair of teeth. The golden table emerges ever-so-slowly, which means, technically, it must be dawn. It's always arrived at the crack of dawn, but in a place like this, where darkness is forever, you lose track of time. There are five bags, the smallest one being mine. I guess they know I don't need much. Either that, or they're hoping that a small bag would show me that I'm the least favourite.

I look at the numbers on the bag despite knowing my competition.

The girl from District One. She seemed... distanced. I rarely saw her talk or even interact with many. During the bloodbath, she didn't even try that hard. Same goes for the girl from District Four, actually, because I always assumed she was rather dumb and naive, yet, she's lasted surprisingly long.

Their final ally is the male from District Two. My fingers lift and gently graze over the hardened cut he delivered to my cheek. Him... him I know as being strong and determined, fiery eyes that locked onto you.

Besides those three, it's the girl from District Eight, who, actually, lasted a lot longer than I expected again. But she's dead now. Her pack is pretty much useless, but it's still there. She got a high score, sure, and when I saw her in training literally kick the trainer to the floor, I thought she had a chance... but then she vanished from sight and mind, only to reappear on the darkened canvas above. I guess her tactic must have been elusiveness. My tactic, well, my tactic was clearly my stupidity. I played with fire, and Hayl got burned. She got burned bad.

Slowly, I creep back into the Cornucopia and wait, finger hovering over the bottom.

Should I blow them all up when they arrive for the bags? I'm almost sure that someone must be in the trees, waiting.

Or should I wait, fight, and then blow the final two tributes up, leaving me the Victor?

I never really cared about my own life. I mean, at the end of the day, the Capitol want their Victor and they don't want to look like they are showing favoritism. If I blow them all up - taking myself too, as a martyr, I guess - then they'd have no-one. Absolutely no-one. They think that the explosives might be for entertainment value - one of the few bare reasons I can think of for them wanting to keep Nomen around, doing nothing - but I bet they never expected the controller to fall into the hands of a tribute with a reckless attitude and lack of care for others around him? I only cared about Hayl, and minorly Poppy. But now they're both dead... it leaves me just caring about me. No matter how selfish it sounds, I care about me, and only me from this point onwards. But I don't care enough for my life.

It doesn't make sense; but it's clear in my mind. A jumble of words and excuses that I can never, ever justify.

I hear the sound of footsteps and look up, listening carefully. I wait for someone to appear in view, and after a while, I see the tall, broad figure that stalks the outer circle of the Cornucopia, just before the descend up the hill. By the look of the spear and the size of the figure, I can tell that the Career from District Two has made it to the final three. He looks around, and for once, I see a crack in his face and his mouth falls open, the apparent carnage clearly being more than he bargained for. Typical Career; late in the game and he decides that he's a better human.

The sound of a cannon surprisingly shocks me, and my heart hiccups in my chest. The Career looks shocked too, his face instantly looking up to the sky. I briefly dip out of the Cornucopia - since he's busy looking up - smiling at the girl in the sky. So... she's the Career that fell then. His face stays solid as he turns around, finding me rather easily now that I'm exposed. I note the way my hand teeters over the controller, either through nerves or twisted, selfish excitement.

He opens his mouth to speak, but it's cut off by the sound of rushing water. He turns around and I look ahead, watching the deep red wave rush over the top of the hill hastily, making the end seem much more... lighter.

* * *

**It Ends Tonight by All American Rejects.**

* * *

******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Twill Mousseline, District Eight.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**Hearts... Twill was, by far, one of my favourite tributes from you. Mirana and Rowen were great, but not fighters like Twill here. She will forever be on my favourite tributes in this story.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

_**Who do you think will make the final three alongside Ajax and Dagan - Azolla or Honor?**_

_**From that, what are your desired final three placements?**_

**And of course, a general review on my writing or the storyline is much appreciated and noted!**

* * *

**I understand that people don't have to like every tribute. I know, I mean, I see tributes that make me want to claw my eyes out and my reviews on them become a little harsh. Twill seemed to be controversial and a lot of people hated her for becoming boring. To me, she wasn't boring, but real. She cried a lot and she was sick a lot. Terrified a lot and broken. Are you telling me that that isn't real? Twill got this far for many reasons - one being my choice - but the main factor was that Twill was normal and scared and trying, trying so hard to keep sane and keep killing.**

**Taking a life isn't easy, no matter the circumstance. Twill got far because her reactions and her attitude to everything was realistic, not subtle or hidden or hardened. Real. Real emotions. She was torn between forcing herself to kill to go home or giving out, effectively not going home.**

**Sorry for the rant about Twill, but some of the negative things said about her got to me a little since I actually thought Twill's actions and reactions were one of my best...**

**On a brighter note!**

**Final battle next, and the flood is reaching them and the explosives are ready and oh look, the dead bodies are slowly floating out from the woodlands... Ajax is ready. Dagan is ready. But, who else will join them?****.**


	19. Over My Head

**Over My Head.**

_I wish you were a stranger I could disengage._

* * *

**Honor Elliot, District One Female.**

* * *

I pull the sword out slowly, my hand physically shaking from the act. I've never killed before. Not really. Stuffed dummies and their white cotton don't exactly count as taking a life. Azolla's eyes roll in the back of her head, but I can still see the rough, rugged rise in her chest, body trying to fight against giving up. But, just when she tries to fight, her body goes still and her cannon sounds, shaking the trees. Her hair is damp and wet, stained a different colour to the usual blonde. The waves pick up a little and gently, Azolla rises from the ground - body now light - before she begins to be pushed away by the water.

All the bodies are moving in a certain direction; the water's motion is taking them somewhere, like they are controlled by something. I struggle to breathe for a moment, placing my hand to my heart and heavily trying to slow down the panic in me. Then, instinct hits me and I pat my hands down the side of my suit, realising that it's been cut and marred, the act of Azolla's harpoon. My body feels weak, but I have to keep sane. There's three of us left, and now, now the final fight must commence. It ends tonight.

Slowly, I move through the sluggish water, following the path I know Azolla and the girl from Eight's body drifted down. They're being taken somewhere, and my guess is towards the feast and Cornucopia. I grip onto the sword harder and begin to walk faster, using the faint moon bouncing off the red water as my light. The arena is beyond dark now, the only light really being the red water that rises painstakingly slow, getting higher and higher up my body.

I'm also glad I can swim. It seemed pathetic when my father threw me in the water and demanded I learn to swim. I didn't see the point. Now, I'm actually grateful towards the man that forced me into all of this. He managed to do something right.

My footsteps begin to get faster and faster, panic rising in me as the water speed increases, pushing the distance between me and Azolla's body further and further. It's almost a straight path, I realise, and it makes me feel sick knowing that the trees aren't really spaced out, but rather lined; the darkness encouraged the illusion. Azolla's body continues to dip into the shadows and I force my body to move faster, harder, knowing that deep down, it feels like it's giving up.

And I know why.

Ajax is there. Ajax is still alive, and now, he's my final competitor. The anthem blares and the seal prints onto the sky. Azolla's face flashes for a moment before vanishing forever. Now, now Ajax and the Nine boy know. They both know that I'm their final competitor. It was going to be either me or Azolla - they saw the Eight girl surely - and now, Ajax will know. I wonder if he feels the same? The hollow sensation that makes me feel unhuman once more.

I hide my emotions for the better good, and I end up unhuman.

Now, I feel hollow, like I have no heart.

I never meant for this. This has never, ever been for me. I lied to Ajax when I said it was about Vanity - it was never about her. She always wanted to volunteer, I never did. I was forced because she failed in her conquest. If she had won... I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have met Ajax. I wouldn't be fighting for my life. Now, I don't know whether it's a blessing or not. Meeting Ajax has finally stirred something inside of me that I tried so hard to build a wall around.

And now I have to kill him. Another unhuman act. And for what? For glory? Is this what father truly wanted, a broken daughter who provides him wealth and fame?

I start to run after that. I know I'm almost there, and if anything, I could help Ajax kill the Nine boy. Which, is ironic, because Cyra even tried to get him to join us. She asked and he declined, because he was a better person than us. He's lasted longer than her and Lamont and Marlin and Azolla. Choosing against our alliance was clearly the best thing for him.

The light against the water is still red, but turns darker. I'm suddenly swallowed by red light and instantly know I'm back to where I began.

The clearing is smothered, too, red water gushing fast as it reaches the dip down to the Cornucopia and bloodbath area, pouring over the hill and downwards. I start to run again, watching with sickened eyes as Azolla's body awkwardly floats down the hill, her hands and arms cascading outwards against the water's current. My sword slashes against the water, and I know, I just know that the arena is slowly flooding. If my sword is touching it as I run, then it must be coming up to my knees pretty soon. I feel to cry and be sick. Everything is almost a blur as I reach the hill's descent, looking down at the two boys and the horrid scene. The Nine boy and Ajax seem to be having a stand-off, Ajax's spear gripped tightly in his hand whilst the Nine boy has a knife in his, the other containing some sort of device. All around them... all around them, the deceased tributes are floating on the water. The boy from District Three, head clearly crushed. The boy from District Five, his body ripped open. The girl from District Five, neck completely red from apparent blood, a rigid line across her throat.

It's truly become a graveyard. And now... now we must fight whilst the others watch on with dead eyes.

"Ajax!" I scream, my voice breaking as the emotions get to me.

He stares up at me, his face pale despite the lack of light, before his eyes train on Azolla's floating figure that lolls around nearby the others, head slowly bucking against the side of the Cornucopia.

Where's Eight's body?

I have no idea, but it will come eventually. On cue, I see it to my side, her dark hair and pale face looking in my direction before she tumbles down the hill. I feel sick and Ajax can see. The Nine boy just turns to me and faintly smiles.

"Come down, it's about to get real exciting." he says, voice wavering.

* * *

**Ajax Rogue, District Two Male.**

* * *

Knowing Honor survived only makes me feel more downtrodden. I should be happy that she's alive, shouldn't I? I never, ever wanted Honor dead. Never. Yet, the whole time I ran here and then when I heard the cannon, I couldn't help but pray that she would be in the sky. I'd know her killer almost instantly, and I wouldn't have to worry about doing it myself. I'd be able to just finish this and return back to District Two, head held high. Now... all I'll ever remember is that Honor is in a coffin, and I could be the reason that she's there.

Honor slowly moves down the hill towards us, strands of her dark hair sticking to her skin.

"That's it. Come on now, don't be shy." Nine says quietly. His eyes are that of a mad person.

Honor stops away from us, in the middle, becoming the point to our triangle. We all stare at each other, the water rising hastily. Looking at Honor only rips dread through my body. How can I kill her? Fuck it. It was never this hard in my mind. If I had just stayed away from her, kept that distance... but the whole "bonded" situation really screwed that up. I should have just ignored them all. When Cyra killed Marlin, and we all split, I shouldn't have joined Honor. If I didn't join her, I wouldn't be worried about... about the butterflies in my stomach and the pain that settles deep in my body at the thought of killing her.

I quickly glance back to Nine, watching his thumb hover over a bright red button.

"What's that?" I ask, accusations in my voice.

"This," he starts. "This is my detonator. You see, nobody cared about the little mad scientist from District Five. But, he cared enough to rig the entire battlefield with bombs. All those plates? He's wired them all up underneath your feet, under the dirt and now, under the water. He had us all fooled."

District Five? You mean the nerd? Oh.

That's the only thing I can think of. Oh. But, my body sinks at the fact that he has a controller to blow us all up.

"You'll take yourself out," Honor suddenly speaks up, but I can't dare look at her. "You'll die too."

Nine shrugs nonchalantly. "I'll just be deemed a martyr."

"It won't win you points with the Capitol."

"Like I really care what they have to say," he scoffs. "They've pretty much screwed us all over already, I doubt they can do much more."

I can't help but feel worried. He clearly doesn't seem all there in his mind... and now, with a push of a button, he'll blow the entire place up. As quick as flash, me, Honor and him, we'll be but body parts on the water. Not to mention... I feel sick. If he blows us up, all the deceased tributes, their bodies... they'll be ripped to shreds. I start running before my mind can relay the information. My feet splash awkwardly against the water, but Nine only turns at the last second. I manage to tackle him as hard as possible, taking him off his feet as we fall hard into the water. I briefly watch as the controller - bright red button gleaming - flies from his hand and lands in the water with a tiny splash.

I pull back, his fist flying for my face and connecting with my jaw. By now, our weapons are lost. I don't know what happened to my spear - it was all a blur. His knife, too, has long disappeared, not to mention I thought he had a pitchfork? Maybe that was lost too. I don't recall much except my hands trying to throttle his neck. He punches again, stars peppering my vision as my mind reels. But, finally, with enough push, I manage to push his fighting body under the water, coppery blood filling his mouth and nose as he submerges under. He thrashes about, kicks and punches hitting my body.

But I'm not as strong as before. The Games, Honor, they've... they've weakened me emotionally and mentally.

I lose control and he manages to flip, me tripping on something, causing me to fall backwards. The momentum allows him the opportunity to get back onto his feet and get revenge, trying to strangle me.

I hear a flurry of footsteps and splashes, a cry of mercy. Honor comes into view, her sword raised high as she stabs downwards. Nine manages to shrug out the way, but the tip of the blade cuts his shoulder blade, and he howls. I manage to use that to my advantage and take control again.

"Honor! Get the control!"

I hear her footsteps rushing away as I bring Nine out of the water, pushing him further and further towards the Cornucopia until his back is pressed against the golden skin. Honor comes back quickly, the controller in her hand. Using all the strength and will I have, I keep Nine pinned up against the horn. He smiles smugly before spitting in my face.

"You can't win either way," he hisses. "Being a Victor... you might as well had died, because your life is over whether you win or lose."

"Ajax... I-I don't know what to do." Honor mumbles quietly.

But I do. I turn for a brief second - to ask for Honor's sword to kill him, no matter how much my mind was telling me to let him kill Honor first, just so I didn't have to - but Nine is strong. I forget that. I forget that he is indeed powerful. He manages to jerk up his knee into my crotch, my hands instantly letting go as a wave of pain washes over me. He pushes me out the way and staggers forward, hand whipping across Honor's face, taking her off-guard since she was too busy looking at the controller for answers.

As she falls into the water, I blink back the tears and blurriness, watching Nine scoop out the controller from the water's wave. I stagger forward, turning into an awkward, sluggish sprint as Nine tries to run towards the plates. My mind is reeling and all the different scenarios are playing out in my mind. I'm faster and I catch him, the motions in the water causing the little boy from Eleven's dead body to float towards us. Nine spins around as I punch him, but his grip on the controller is deadly.

It all happens in a blur.

He manages to punch me back, taking my arm and twisting it behind my back, switching places and pushing me closer to the plates. With a shunt of his arms, he thrusts me forward, the sound of Honor's splashing runs towards us. I hit the water and manage to hear Honor's scream, before Nine's words catch my ears.

"Boom."

* * *

**Dagan Grove, District Nine Male.**

* * *

My finger hovers over the button as I turn around, Honor, as I've learned, now running towards me awkwardly. She stops, though, her eyes alarmed as I hear the faint sound of Ajax's body hitting the water. She stares at me for what seems an eternity, eyes boring into my skull. Then, she screams.

"Boom."

My finger immediately slams down on the button.

I'm throwing myself to the ground as quick as possible, forcing my body under the towering waves of bloody water that has, ironically, provided me with help. It fills my nose and lungs once more, just like when he pushes me under. I guess this is karma for him. The sound that follows, though, is deafening, even submerged under the crimson waves. It's like a domino effect, a loud bang that rips apart the silence and the sound of rushing water. Then, it continues rapidly, a succession of bangs that get louder and louder, causing my ears to ring.

The last one blows and I know, I just know that it won't get me. I feel the heat of the explosion rolling on top of the waves, and as I strain my eyes to see, I watch the fire extend outwards above me, burning everything that can be burned. It takes a moment for the sound of sizzling and explosions to calm down, before fiery debris showers around me. A piece of burned wood flies down in front of my eyes, causing me to gasp and swallow more bloody water. It burns my throat, and my eyes are hazy.

The sound of a cannon is muted by the water, and I know someone is dead. Blown to pieces, like that ass Nomen wanted.

I quickly emerge, the burning sensation in my lungs and eyes now taking over. I rip through the bloody water hastily, taking a large gulp of the stale, maple-tinted air. I run my hand through my hair and scrub my eyes, slightly sickened by the sights in front of me. The explosion must have had a triggered effect, since water pours and pours over the hill, rising higher and higher on my body until my feet take off the ground, floating. I turn to the side, the plates that contained the bombs now not only ripped open, but submerged underneath the red sea.

There's no sign of either of them.

But someone died. Who was it?

A face suddenly appears in the sky, no anthem or seal whatsoever.

Honor.

So, he's still alive then.

The District Two boy. He's... he's disappeared. I snap my head around quickly, desperate to find him. I can't help but notice the way my heart hiccups from the fear that, despite my fight and the explosions, I could still lose. Hayl's death would still be in vain. I begin to wade through the water quickly, heading over to the Cornucopia. I can't swim, so I force my head underneath the water ever so often, just to touch my feet against the ground and use the boyuncy to my advantage. When I reach the slippery golden skin, I know I have to climb. Higher ground means a better chance at not only not drowning, but spotting him. If he's under the water, well, he'll have to come up for air eventually.

I try to grip a small crack in the golden horn to hoist me up. It takes some effort - my arms feeling weighed down and tired - but I manage to hook an arm over the top, using my strength to lift me up.

I struggle to my feet and stare outwards, the scene something out of a nightmare.

The trees - their maple leaves and thick trunks - are now half-submerged under the rushing, vast red waters. The plates have disappeared, the wooden coffins that concealed us at the beginning now charred and floating on top of the waves. Some of the deceased tributes that were down here before the blast lasted the impact - some not. The little Eleven boy is no longer a body, but chunks of flesh and remains just balancing on choppy waters. Same is said for Honor.

The other ones - the District Four girl and Hayl - they survived the blast.

I peer over the edge at Hayl's beautiful form, still as perfect as when she was alive. This is all for you now. I guess... I guess this is for the both of us.

But, just as I thought the sights couldn't get any worse. I hear another rush of water and instantly stare at the trees. The water cuts through the trees - a large tidal wave, that is - bringing forth the remaining tributes. They're nothing but red clothing and colourless faces, but as they near, I can see how they died, spitting out of the trees like garbage.

I recognise the District Four male - eyes hollowed out and uniform torn, a large gaping hole in his chest. The little girl from District Six, flesh bared and ripped off in chunks. There's a chunk of meat in a red uniform, but as it nears quickly, tumbling down the hill, I recognise the strands of pale blonde hair as that of the girl from District Three.

All the twenty-two deceased tributes are being gathered for the final fight, like debris in the water... like spectators. They're keeping to their idea of this being a graveyard, just like the one in District Nine.

I feel sick. They join the bloodbath tributes and the chunks of flesh floating in the water, and, looking down, it's nothing but carnage gathered on the tranquil waves. Blood water keeping red uniforms, dead victims, chunks of flesh all on top, rather than sinking. The Capitol does this. They make a show over death. They make it something that should be watched and adored, encouraged even. This is why they're monsters. This is why... this is why I hate them more than I've hated anything else.

I stand up and scream to the sky, and that's when I hear the noise of metal on metal.

I spin around quickly, droplets of red water rolling off his face as he lunges forward. I'm taken back, the Career now having an ideal behind his cause. We grapple until I throw him down, head whiplashed against the golden skin. His eyes are large and bloodshot, staring at me accusingly. But he's quick. He manages to roll out the way as I tempt to stomp on his face. He's up on his feet, and as I swing a punch, he dodges and punches me squarely in the gut. I manage to come back and hit him, though, the force throwing the sword from his hand. Honor's sword. So, he found that too. It clangs against the shell, bouncing until it's half-balanced over the edge.

Ajax comes back with a punch of his own. We grapple once more, my fist wrapping in his short hair, using it to my advantage to bring him down against the roof of the horn in one swift motion.

It's almost like time slows down. As quick as a flash, Ajax leaps forward, hitting the shell and scrabbling for the sword. I bring my foot down on his lower back, hearing him howl in response before he rolls over, sweeping out his leg and catching me off-guard. I slam hard on my back, head hitting the golden skin, a horrible crack cause my vision to go blurry. I barely hear Ajax grab the sword, his muscular, broad but blurred figure standing over me.

I manage to come back enough to kick him in the knee, watching him fall down. But, as he hits the floor, I can see the glint of fury in his eyes.

A man who lost his love. I wonder if my eyes mirror his?

It happens so fast.

The moment his knee touches the Cornucopia's roof, he whips his hand out fast - the hand containing the sword. The silver blade slices across my stomach, and not a minor sword. The pain stretches across my body and the blurriness in my eyes only increases. I look down, my hands shakily coming to my chest to touch the wound, blood pouring out as fast as the water did down the hill and out the trees. My lips quiver, and the faint taste of my own blood is in my mouth.

He stands up as my legs begin to wobble. He briefly looks at me and the fury is gone. His eyes are... hollow.

My legs give away and I fall to the side, weak body slipping off the Cornucopia and splashing in the water below. I go under and then up, eyes staring empty at the sky, my mind reeling as I realise that, like the other deceased tributes, I must watch.

Watch as I lose my life.

* * *

_"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the One Hundredth Hunger Games, Ajax Rogue! I give you - the tribute of District Two!"_

* * *

**Over My Head by The Fray.**

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******The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

**Azolla Midwell, District Four.**

**Honor Elliot, District One.**

**Dagan Grove, District Nine.**

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

**sailorblaze, Azolla grew well and I loved her growth. Plus, she had everyone fooled. She was truly cunning.**

**smyle, Honor was beautiful, and her masquerade was a strong one. **

**And, finally, Half-Glass, your tributes always do well because they have the fight in them. Dagan could've won, but he got blindsided and, well, him and Ajax were playing for almost the exact same things: a deceased potential lover and their lives.**

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**If you could, a review on these questions would make my day:**

_-Who you thought would win Blood Thicker Than water, at any point?_

_-Your favourite character (despite your own, and no matter their final placement)?_

_-Are you happy with who won (going by realism and favouritism)?_

_-The most shocking death of this story, to you?_

_-The most jaw-dropping moment (or, in other words, the scene that captured you the most)?_

_-Your favourite chapter?_

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**Not everyone will be pleased with Ajax winning. Dagan was a more likely candidate, and despite being cliché, he could have done it. Honor was strong-willed, but not a true favourite, though Hajax was a thing, much like Dayl. Maybe that's why they done so well... Azolla was good, too, but her hidden personality would have caused too much controversy back home, particularly with Creek hating on River for acting.**

**To me, Ajax was ideal in more ways than one, but it'll allow me to showcase another side to Ajax that was hidden. You've seen tough Ajax. Sarcastic Ajax biting back against Cyra. Lovestruck and confused Ajax around Honor... now, you'll see pained Ajax coming to terms with everything.**

**Next chapter will be dealing with Ajax's return, a look into the Training Centre in District Two and what they put tributes through, a look at District Two's six Victors - Ajax now the seventh - as well as the dreaded interviews with Hermes Abbatone and the Games recaps.**

**Even though you might not approve of Ajax winning, I would ask you see this from a more creative, unbiased view. Even if you didn't like him, try to understand the logical reasons (from me as the author) as to why he was chosen over the others. **

**Like with Twill last chapter, not liking the tribute is fine, you don't have to, but please try to see things from my view, not a favouritism view. **

**Likable tributes aren't always the winners.**

**And, without further ado, well done Teddy (Cashmere67) for your tribute winning, the first Victor in the _EsmeraldaVerse_.**

**He may pop up in later stories!**

**One more chapter and this story is completed.**


	20. Happiness

**Happiness.**

_Happiness feels a lot like sorrow._

* * *

**Ajax Rogue, District Two Male.  
One Hundredth Victor.**

* * *

"This way please, Mr. Rogue." the attendant says to me, ushering his arm out for me to follow.

I nod curtly, swallowing the lump down my throat. I walk ahead of the man, straight to my vehicle. Someone opens the door - I don't remember who and I don't want to care - and climb in. Everything seems so surreal. The car begins to drive forward, engine raring, a sound that sounds so familiar to the explosions. I wince, resting my forehead against the cool glass and watching the scenes of the Capitol blur by. I'll be back here in about a week anyway for the interview with Hermes; something I'm not looking forward to. He's a horrid person as it - tormenting us all with the videos during the interviews - but I know he'll take some sadistic pleasure in the recaps, making me watch the deaths again and again, repeating throughout my mind.

People think Careers are heartless - and before the Games, we are - but then we change. The arena isn't what we expected. It's much more... powerful and soul-breaking. Everyone comes out a shadow of their former self, reaped or volunteered. Us volunteers are just naive to the damage that they cause, whereas the reaped have no choice. In a sense, neither did I. Once you start training in District Two, there's a possibility that you're chosen. They decide and we must follow without question.

Of course, some idiots aren't skilled enough and manage to break the rules, i.e Cyra.

Her death will be something I'll watch with amusement. I'd love to know who actually killed her, who stole that chance. The others - particularly the ones I killed myself - I'll watch with hollow eyes and a sunken feeling in my chest. It's the way to cope, I guess. The less emotional attachment to each death, the less chance of their eyes boring into my skull, implanting in my brain and then haunting my nightmares.

And then there's Honor...

I've tried not to think about her. The more I try to remember her features, the harder it becomes. I've forced myself so much to erase her images from my mind, if I try to think about what she looks like, it's fucked up. I can't remember her eyes, or the way her hair was, or even the way she held herself. I can't remember much and that's my own fault. It's a conflicting feeling, knowing you can't live with her images in your mind - knowing she's dead - but wanting to remember as much as possible to remind yourself that, that one person, she made you feel human and whole.

The car comes to a stop and I climb out, rushing to the train, blinded by the cameras. They scream my name like I'm a legend. Like I done good.

But I didn't.

At least, I don't think I did.

* * *

The train ride home is just as uncomfortable as the car journey. Each time the train slows down or speeds up to get to District Two faster, my heart races at the memories of the explosion and the tube and Honor's body parts scattered in the water and the blood red sea that-

"Ajax?"

I snap out, staring at Clifford in front of me. He stares at me with careful eyes, the wrinkles above his head clear from all the stress. "Yes?"

"It gets easier kid. At least, it depends on how you handle it."

"How would you choose to handle it?" I ask, surprised at the softness in my voice.

"Well, not like him for starters," Clifford says, jerking his thumb in the direction of Maverick, passed out over his bottle of rum. "Alcohol and drugs aren't the solution."

"You didn't answer my question. How would you handle it, Clifford?" my voice is almost at breaking point. A little help would go a big way.

"By training others," Clifford says short and sweet, placing his hand up when I open my mouth to protest. "Nobody knows the pain of winning until you actually win. But you can't stop the rules of the Training Center. You can't fight fire, Ajax, because you'll get burned. The best you can do, to help you cope, is to train the trainees as hard as you can."

"But why?"

"Because... because if you train a child in everything, make them the best at what they do, then if they get chosen to volunteer, you're mind will be clear because you know you done everything you could to train them great. To train them to keep their life. Cyra... she wasn't ready. Use her as a method. Don't let one of the trainees become a tribute without being ready in all aspects." Clifford's voice is now grave, like his words are too huge for his mouth to form. "Then you'll be okay. You'll be able to cope because you know the trainee going in knows everything they can. Why do you think we pushed you so hard, Ajax? Why do you think that Amity spent most of her time training you hard rather than letting you mess around?"

"...it isn't a joke." I choke out, the jumbled pieces of the puzzle coming together.

"It isn't a joke. Now you understand. Just don't end up like him. Don't let alcohol or drugs or anything be the solution. Put that fear and sickness into working harder."

I nod slowly, allowing time for Clifford's voice to return to normal, the angry, flustered pink tint to fade from his cheeks. It's why Amity broke down when people joked about. She wanted us to work harder so that if we were ever chosen, we were as ready as we could be. Not like Cyra, not just hoping for a miracle.

The rest of the train journey, I sit there in the booth, too absorbed in my mind and the events to notice anything else. Clifford eventually excuses himself to his room, whilst Maverick stays unconscious. I think the quiet helps me. Every little jump or noise sends my head reeling and my heart racing. I wish I was still strong. I went in and came out a broken man. But, I need to do what Clifford says. I have to train them hard. I need to let them know that skills are going to help you, not luck or sponsors. Pure skills. I mean, I'll have to train them anyway - rules of the Training Center being that all Victors must train future generations - so I might as well put what Clifford said into good practice.

Maybe then I can fix myself.

And hopefully burn Honor away from my mind completely.

* * *

Life in District Two is different. My house in Victors Village is huge, too huge for my liking, but I live alone. Mother and father have lives outside of my training and victory. In fact, I'm almost sure that they never really wanted me to enter. They knew I trained - mother's money paid for the training after all - but I guess they never expected me to be so good. When I asked them to move in - so I wouldn't have to face the silence on my own - they declined. Mother's masonry business was far too important and father didn't want to have to keep leaving for his job as a Peacekeeper.

They left me, and I hate them for it.

I'm still a child. Well, technically. I still need my parents to help mend me. And yet, they act as if everything is okay now. My little game is over and now it's time I grew up. I have the money, the house, the independence, but at what cost? The boy from District Eight who I speared as he ran away, searching for his allies? Lamont as I speared him through the chest? What about Nine, as I sliced him open? Their lives provided me with the "maturity" that my parents - well, mother - wanted for me.

The more I stay around, the more I learn that being here, being Victor, isn't what I thought.

When you're an aspiring tribute in the Training Center, you look up to the Victors. They train you, teach you everything, sometimes even tell you the stories of how they won and what their arena was like. You admired them because they were everything you were aspiring to be. But they never told you of the emotional pain. The psychological pain. The constant fear for your surroundings, the constant emptiness in your chest that can only be filled by companionship, and yet, you're too scared or numb to be able to attach yourself to someone.

I understand why Amity cries. Why Maverick drinks. Why Clifford trains them harder or why Brick is as arrogant and almighty as he is.

They do it to fill the emptiness in their heart, their soul, the part that was ripped out by the cruel tendrils of the Hunger Games.

But they don't tell you that. They don't tell you because Training Center rules forbid it. Because, as a Career district, we're not supposed to feel like this.

We're expected to be hunters and monsters, not humans.

* * *

"Why are their more cars?" I ask Clifford, peering out the window. "Are you telling me there are more people coming?"

Clifford nods solemnly. "The other Victors are attending the recaps. It's... it's a tradition for us."

"So, everyone else will be there?" my voice raises, the bitterness clear. So, once again, I'm made to be a show.

He nods again. "Evander, Signus, Amity, Brick, myself and Maverick. We're all attending with you."

"You've got to be kidding me..."

But, I know he's not. I instantly recognise Maverick stumbling up the steps to the train, a mirror image of the day we volunteered. Brick is next, his blonde hair and chiseled face smiling, waving at the cameras as they click shots. Amity is quick, nothing but a blur. Her black hair is seen for a moment before she's gone. Evander and Signus must be on the train already. Classed as District Two legends, they need more privacy and away from the cameras. The door opens and my eyes are blasted by the cameras. I feel Clifford's hands on my shoulders, leading me through the crowd towards the door. He whispers something I can't quite say, but I smile, vaguely remembering him say something about 'teeth'. I need to look fake. I need to look... happy.

When we get inside, Clifford ushers me to the main cart, the other Victors already waiting. Maverick is in his happy-drunk state, eyes wide and smile clear. Amity, on the other hand, is buried into a seat, arms wrapped around her lithe legs. Brick grins smugly as Clifford pushes me along.

"There he is. It's about time we got to see you in person." Brick drawls.

"You live next door to him. I'm sure you've seen him before." Clifford defends.

"Not exactly. I thought I'd hold off until now. Put the face to the killings, so to speak."

His words cut me, just like Cyra's use to do. Except, with Cyra, I was angry and wanted to strangle her. With Brick's words, and now after everything, I want to sink into my seat and hide away from sight.

"Evander, Signus, you remember Ajax, right?"

"Of course," Signus speaks, a cunning smile on his and Evander's face, making them like twins. "You were in my top class, wasn't you? I distinctly recall a young man, about your height, whose aim with a spear was spectacular."

I nod slowly.

"Ah, indeed. I thought I recognise the shot. You've gotten better from the last time I remember."

I nod again, all the words I want to say, wish to say, just dying on my tongue. I didn't expect to feel so exposed. I expected like everything would be normal. That, hopefully, each of them would just ignore me or even hate me. If they hated me so openly, it would make it easy. Instead, they congratulate me and treat me like a hero. I wince as the train rolls, my head reeling from the motion. I suddenly feel so sick and dizzy, I have to excuse myself, but not before I hear Maverick speak for the first time in ages.

"I can't wait to see Zircon's face. His girl, that idiot with the dark hair, he had bet on her that she would last longer than ours. It'll be grand to see that smug smile get wiped off now that we've beaten District One again."

Honor.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, please welcome the Victor of the Fourth Quarter Quell, all the way from District Two - Ajax Rogue!"

The noise is deafening. I close my eyes and try to bury the thoughts, but they take over.

In slow motion, I'm falling, a blood red sea beneath my feet. It seems like time slows down as my face touches the water, coppery blood filling my nose and scorching my lungs. Then, his muffled voice, all before the explosions begin. One after the other after the other after the other, like a forever cycle of bangs and rings that blow my eardrum and cause my heart to race faster and faster and faster and faster, like it's beating out of my chest an-

I suddenly fall forward, a shunt from behind. I'm snap out of my daze, wearily, and begin to climb the steps. It's all so surreal once more. I was here but a few weeks ago, watching in horror as they showed how my brother was killed by Gamemakers without a chance to fight back. Hermes' face was so happy and conceited, I wanted to smack him there and then.

His face hasn't changed.

The claps and the hollers blast against my ears - the lights against my eyes - but I try my best to force on a smile and wave politely. Hermes seems to laugh for a moment as I take my seat in the chair. His smile is huge, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. He's almost like something out of a cartoon. He raises his hands and brings them down slowly, hushing the crowd until they're quiet.

"Ajax. Oh dear Ajax. How have you been?" he asks, eyes scanning mine for lies or hidden truth.

"I've been fine," I lie. "Just adjusting to everything around me, understanding the ropes from my fellow Victors."

The spotlight quickly shoots into the sidebar where the other Victors wait. Evander and Signus, for some reason, hide in the darkness, but the likes of Brick and Amity are captured. Amity looks like a rabbit trapped in headlights, eyes wide and accusing.

"Brick, looking as fabulous as ever!" Hermes calls, winning a thumbs-up and gracious smile from Brick. Amity next to him, however, has her hands wrapped around her body consciously. "And Amity, sweetheart, still as gorgeous, pale and anorexic as I remember!"

I can't help but glare at Hermes for his words against her, but he doesn't notice. The crowd laughs either way as the spotlight travels away from them and then back onto me and Hermes. He doesn't even do anything but whip out his hand towards the large screen besides us.

"Now, before we begin the recaps, I have one question. Honor Elliot from District One. Where did you stand with her, Ajax, because it seemed like a love story but then it also seemed rather awkward."

Her name hurts my brain. All the memories I'm trying to forget, and yet people keep bringing her up. I don't know what I felt with Honor. It was always more than friendship, but I've never experienced real love. Brotherly love, yes, but not the undying kind of love. The Training Center teaches you to hold it off until you've finished training or become a Victor. They encourage lust, not love. So... I don't know. If I can't answer it for myself, how can I answer it to the people watching? So, I go with the best thing I can do.

"Isn't this interview about me and not... n-not some girl who died?"

Hermes grins triumphantly. "Yes, I suppose. Don't think you've got off so easy, you'll be answering that question after the recaps!"

I don't have time to reply before a loud wave of static fills the air. I wince again as the lights go dark, faces of the crowd and Hermes moulding into the darkness. The screen goes from black to white, before colour begins to arise. A voice comes out of nowhere, declaring that: "Twenty-four went in, and only one came out."

The white changes to a cluster of colours that, once begin, prove to be the area of District Eight, I believe. I don't know. But, as the reapings of said district begin and a girl makes her way to the stage, before fainting and having to be held by a Peacekeeper, I know it must be District Eight. The girl, whose name I can't remember. Maybe it's better that way. The screen is enveloped with blood writing that spells out _'Fifth Place'_, before it changes to the placid location of District Four. I can tell instantly by the sea, and the sight brings the first real smile to my face in what feels like years. Azolla makes her way to the stage, looking innocent and placid, just like the sea behind her. She mumbles into the microphone, but the words are muted by the Capitol since her lips move, but only noise appears. Why hide what she said? _'Fourth Place'_, and then it shifts again, the idyllic scene of District One. I hold my breath, my head suddenly reeling once more. I haven't seen her face since the final battle. I haven't... I can't... Honor walks to the stage, her eyes hardened and solid. They zoom in on her face - they haven't done it before - so I guess that's to test me. I suddenly feel very sick, as _'Third Place'_ appears and the scene shifts again. The District Nine boy - Dagan Grove, apparently - is raising his fist in the air in a funny sign. The crowd doesn't say anything, but two other people follow suit. _'Second Place'_.

Then it's me. I know it's me. I can't once more. I can't feel or do anything, like I'm helpless, the image of our stony streets and wooden buildings coming into view.

They show Cyra being the idiot that she was, taking away Golda's place and the fury in Golda's eyes. Then, it's me, and I can feel my knees buckling and my head screaming. Don't do it, you stupid boy. Don't bother running up there. I'm urging myself on to make the right move, to not volunteer, but the idiot does it anyway.

And, whilst his eyes are neutral, he's oblivious to the rollercoaster that is about to destroy his humanity.

The scene transforms into that of the chariot rides. I remember my costume vividly. Gods, we were going for. Feathered wings and golden tunics with matching crowns. Each district gets a few seconds as they roll down the Square, their faces pretty much hidden and devoured by the costumes. Everyone looks so... different. So... false. I twitch in my seat when they, once again, spend a little longer on the District One chariot whilst Esmeralda Snow gives her speech. It changes so quickly, the colours make my head spin. The interviews are next, and once again, everyone gets a short clip, just to highlight what their angle was. And, once more, they slow down and prolong Honor's, like some sick way of torturing me. It's like... It's like they're in my head, knowing that I'm trying so desperately hard to rid myself of images of her, so they show her as much as they can to me, just to counter what I'm working on. Lamont is quiet and cold. Cyra is loud and arrogant. Honor wavers under Hermes' questions. Marlin is calm, whilst Azolla seems oblivious to what he says, though her face stiffens at the mention of her sister. The boy from District Three is methodical, whilst the little girl from District Six happens to be sweet and genuine. Different people all brought together. My head spins from everything, from the colours and the sounds, from Honor and the other kids that died and... and... and...

The screen goes dark, the last sight being me being interviewed, a twisted replica of what's happening now. I guess I missed mine. I can't help but be thankful for that. That interview is another memory I want to burn away.

"They fought to the death. They fought for the righted place as Victor."

That's what I wanted. I doubt the ones who were reaped wanted that. They probably just wanted to live.

It then blasts to light once more and I wince, squeezing my eyes partially shut to avoid the bright glare. I say bright, but it's not. It's the bloodbath. They skip around on the faces of the other tributes, the ones that are now probably buried or burned, families still mourning. The thing is, though, the boxes most definitely look like coffins. I never really understood the point, but now I do. They're blocked from seeing behind them or to the sides, really. Everyone has limited view. They zoom in on me, my jaw clenched. I remember my feelings at this point. I was... I was nervous for the first time in ever. The woodlands I did see were a horrible replica of the woods that Axel died in. My mind raced through many thoughts. I dig my nails into my hand, eyes fuzzy from the strain of colours.

The gong sounds, but it's clouded by another sound. I can't watch, knowing what happens. The District Nine girl - Poppy - she jumps, her charred, blackened form falling to the form and rolling down the hill. They'll only show the deaths, I remind myself. They won't show you everything. And true to my word, they don't. The camera quickly shifts to Cyra standing by the Cornucopia, the little boy from District Eleven nearing behind her. They talk, he runs, Cyra catches him and almost decapitated him, head hanging by minor flesh.

Otto.

His name, full name and district, suddenly enters a chart beneath the coloured screen next to the '_23rd_' spot. Above is Poppy.

I'll have to learn their names now. All of them.

Next is the District Three boy, Chip. He seems to be standing around idly, waiting for his allies, more than likely. He doesn't see the brute from District Twelve charge him and force him to the floor. They fight, but Chip seems almost lost, like he's expecting someone else to save him. His skull is soon crushed under the boot of Twelve, and worse of all, Chip's district partner is watching nearby with wide eyes. She might've cared about him. I wonder what it's like to care about the person who reminds you of home? My body fells hollow and numb, none of the deaths making me feel any better, but not any worse. It's like my heart is solid, stone, cold and hardened from the emotions of these tributes dying.

It'll get worse though. That's a guarantee. The more deaths, the more personal, the more it'll swallow me until it finally hurts once more.

The little boy from District Ten is next, Sawyer apparently, and I remember this one. I watch - just like I did, rounded by the Cornucopia - as Lamont takes his machete and carves a line in his chest. His ally, the tiny girl from District Six, she's screaming and screaming and her district partner saves her. I breathe a sigh of relief, realising how shaky my breath is.

It's happening already.

Ambrosia, the girl from District Eleven, she's next. Lamont kills her too.

The scene shifts, showing all the different tributes and allies scattering in different directions, the sections of the woodlands clear. A crow flies past the camera, taking away my breath for a moment.

Then it's us. The Careers. This is my first kill. This is a memory I don't want to keep. I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but for some reason, I can't. I can't do anything once more. I can't stop as Nate runs from us, and the spear glides from my hand effortlessly. He's dead. I don't even look that sorry. Was I not sorry? I feel it now. I'm sorry, Nate. I'm sorry for not giving you a better chance.

The day shifts again. Are they only showing us the deaths? That makes it easier. Less screen time for Honor and me when we were... "bonding". The word now only brings a thick lump in my throat.

The Twelve boy, Hacket, is asleep and he doesn't even see the girl from District Eight appear. He's deadweight as she knots ropes around his hands so he can't use them. He opens his eyes for a second before the blade is dragged across his throat. She was an animal? No, no she wasn't, because now she's crying and disappearing into the trees.

A black screenshot appears next, but it unfolds as shadows amongst the shadows move. I hear the voices carefully... Marlin and Azolla. Before we split up. A frenzy happens and I gasp, the crowd in the shadows gasping too. I stare out at the blackness, managing to see a few at the front. They wince and close their eyes, mouths zipped shut. This must have been the crows attacking them. Azolla finally screams before they change the scene to me, Honor and Azolla dragging Marlin's half-dead body out of the wreckage. His eye sockets are clear, little tendrils at the back so vibrant against the black. Cyra slams a scythe into his chest before anything else is said.

We split, now, and I follow Honor. My heart aches at my decision. If I didn't follow her, I wouldn't have to deal with her death hanging over my conscience. If I didn't follow her, I'd never have known what it was like to actually bond with someone. To actually form a friendship and... and... "bonded". I swallow a thick lump again.

Lamont stalks us from afar, but it takes a while for me or Honor to notice. He speeds around us, taunting us, before my spear finds his chest and kills him. My second kill. I can't help but smile, though, at the sight of me pushing Honor behind me on impulse. I guess I knew, even that early on. After that, they show a brief clip of the weird boy from District Five digging at the group, a handful of wires in his hand. They watched and let him do that? I feel anger rise inside of me but try to quell it as best as possible.

The District Seven boy is running through the forest, two tributes - identified as that of the girls from Districts Ten and Twelve - chasing him. He gets back to his allies, a slap is delivered by his worried partner, but the girls appear. I notice the District Three girl on the floor, her ankle obviously hurt. Was she the blur of blonde that Cyra was determined to kill? Could it have been my spear that caused her to trip and break it, maybe? I feel guilty all of a sudden, but again, I try to remind myself that if I didn't feel guilty then, I shouldn't now, despite knowing.

A fight is about to happen before the storm of feathers arrive once more.

They attack mercilessly and the audience within the shadows cringe once more, their muted voices barely reaching my ears. I can't stop the permanent ringing. The screams are electrifying, igniting the room and making even the most cold-hearted person feel sad for the girl - Danielle as she is now named - for being ripped to complete shreds by them. But, the fight isn't over. Two against two still. They start to fight, but it's clear the two girls have an advantage. They manage to overpower the younger tributes and, with a hesitation, Ten slices Aspen's throat. His district partner is infuriated and attempts to fight back, but she can't do it. She's broken now they've been killed. My heart goes out to her, sweat now beading on my forehead and the other alliances, the other tributes, the other lives... all of it is shown. Before, we were killing district tributes, but watching this, it's more like learning a story about someone to have them die a few seconds later.

I run a hand through my short hair, breathing heavily as the girls fight again.

All these tributes... no, not tributes, but actually people. She cared for Aspen. That slap from earlier showed that. Their disgust and fight after Danielle was slaughtered helplessly. They were a friendship, rather than an alliance. They... they cared more about each other than what skills they possessed. I only had Honor... no, don't think about it. Thinking about it only brings heartache.

Finally, the fight ends with Evy's name joining the bottom, a spear from Twelve taking her life.

But their alliance is the complete opposite. Evy, Aspen and Danielle, they cared for each other... Ten and Twelve, well, she abandons Ten when she's realised that her injury is a lot more serious than first thought. An alliance of friendship versus with an alliance of usefulness.

Whose more morally correct?

It's always the losers. The innocent victims.

My vision is becoming blurred, the sights and sounds only thudding against my brain like a dull hammering, constant and droning. It's making my head spin. My silver suit is now damp with sweat. Droplets, so clear and pristine, roll from my forehead and down my nose, the throbbing making my body exhausted.

Ten eventually finds her death when the girl from District Eight catches her and slices her throat. _'Kieran DeLuca, 12th'_.

So that was her strategy? She was killing for the sake of survival. Quick, shaky jobs that probably broke her but eventually allowed her to get one step closer. I should have done that. I should have killed Cyra when I had the chance. I should have... I should have killed Honor when I had the chance, before I became too attached. I can only blame myself for allowing my heart to open up. Maybe I was vulnerable or confused. Maybe I'm lying to myself, and I wanted it. I'll never know now.

The next scene, however, lightens my mood easily. Cyra is on the screen, stumbling around the woodlands like a newborn animal getting used to legs. She doesn't even notice the way Azolla is nearby, contemplating moves from the privacy of the trees. Azolla's been there for some time before she steps out. Azolla... so, it was all an act then. Azolla wasn't so ditzy and blonde, but a Career at heart and mind. An actress, too, as well as downright cunning. They fight and I already know Azolla wins. Azolla spears her with the harpoon, but that isn't enough. Cyra taunts her, and Azolla has to overkill just to ensure the job is done. Even after the cannon, Azolla brutally kicks at Cyra's dead body.

I glance down at the table. Final ten tributes now.

This was around the time that the doubts of mine and Honor's alliance had crept into my mind. I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants and attempt to clear my face of it too. Focus, Ajax. Everything needs to happen for a reason. Your life was saved for a greater reason.

They zoom in on the District Five boy once more, his plan already set. He walks around idly before deciding on building a hut within the Cornucopia. There, he slips in and waits, just on cue as his district partner and her ally, Nine, come strolling down the hill. My heartbeat quickens at the thought. Both tributes from District Five were dead when I arrived... this must be their doom. I link my fingers together and place them in my lap, holding onto my breath for when things happen.

They kiss, so sweet and tender, and it brings a longing in my heart. They were a couple, a love story, forbidden and fruitful. Me and Honor... we never... we never got to see if we were one. Was the Capitol and audience treating us like it? District Five boy leaps out as Nine gets near his safety. There's not even a brief fight - he snags his district partner with ease and presses a knife to her neck, using her as leverage. For some time, they talk, words like fire as they try to trick the other into what they want. Then, Nine makes a grave mistake. He stabs the District Five easily with his pitchfork, the bright controller zoomed on as it flies through the air. But, at a price. Nine's ally, District Five's district partner, she's pretty much dead, a bright smile across her throat.

_'Nomen Clature, 10th'_.

_'Hayl Gartham, 9th'_.

The scene skips from Nine - a totally different person - saying goodbye to the girl he apparently loved to the next, the two tributes from District Six just walking through the darkness. I'm almost confused. I had completely forgot about them since the bloodbath. But, the boy is acting erratic, twitching and looking around, as if he's being followed and the paranoia has sunk in. Things suddenly go wrong as a figure attacks them. The boy takes control - his eyes now ablaze - and he snaps her neck with a twist. It doesn't stop there, but as he opens his mouth and is ready to sink into her flesh, it cuts black.

I'm puzzled, but I guess cannibalism is frowned upon. Yet, murdering and Mutts that claw you to a hunk of meat, yeah, that's perfectly fine.

I'm suddenly learning everything wrong with this game of cat and mouse.

The scene comes back eventually, to a different scenery. The little District Six girl is pressed against the tree, scared for her life. Her district partner has officially lost the plot, stalking her and calling her something completely different to what I assumed was her name. He attacks swiftly, like a python, but the scene cuts black once more, and the little girl's name appears in the grid.

Final six now. The District Six boy, I know he's dead next... his death was the reason why me and Honor decided to split. In fact, they show us for a brief second just walking lazily through the woodlands. Apparently, nearby, the District Six boy was hidden in the bushes. Not far from him, Azolla, sneaky and stealthily. She stops at a wall and inspects it - well, not a wall, but the dam - before running away, frightened eyes. She must have connected the sound of moving water to the sea in District Four.

She finds Six. They fight. He escapes and finds the wall. His name appears at the bottom before anything happens, a crack in the structure - not from his punching - breaks, a piece flying and hitting him directly between the eyes, killing him instantly.

The flood happens.

My heart races and I strain my eyes to watch the sweat roll down the bridge of my nose and off the end, like the District Nine girl leaping to her death.

I'll never forget, will I?

The District Eight girl is next to die. I know that. Azolla finds her and takes advantage as the floor - the once earthy, soft ground - is flooded. The harpoon finds her chest and she dies. I'm almost relieved for her. I hold my breath again, knowing how Azolla died, too... this was Honor's one and only kill. Azolla was her only kill of the entire Games. Honor's hands, so perfect and tanned, were stained with blood eventually.

I close my eyes and push the sights away as I hear a scream, followed by another and another and another, the domino effect only reminding me of the continuous explosions that ripped her to pieces and almost killed me and-

It's over.

When I peel my eyes open again, Azolla's name is at the bottom, the scene being that of Honor pulling her sword from Azolla's chest.

This is it. I know everything from here on out. Does that make me feel better? Nope. I was delusional for thinking that I could handle this. Maybe I should have just given up and allowed Nine to win. Let him cope with everything, knowing that you're alive whilst others are not.

Honor begins to run through the woods hastily, chasing what I can only guess as Azolla's floating body.

But the scene has skipped to me and Nine, looking back and forth as the water rolls down the hill, flooding the pit we began our game in. Then Azolla's body comes tumbling down the hill and Honor appears, flustered and lips tight. I remember those lips. They rarely ever smiled or seemed happy. They were always hiding something, like secrets on the tip of her tongue. She done it to protect herself - she was smart, knowing not to let her past get in the way of her potential future. I should have done the same. I shouldn't... I shouldn't have opened up to Honor, no matter how much my heart is telling me that I'm lying to myself.

Honor comes down the hill steadily and I hear a rustle. I stare out at the crowd, guessing they're moving in their seats, probably sitting straight for the big finale to what can only be assumed as a very, very bloody Hunger Games.

We talk for a moment, but then I'm running. Me and Nine are fighting before I know it, and I can't bare to look. Honor tries to help, but she's shell-shocked, frozen in place from the surroundings of the dead tributes floating on the waves. She gets the forgotten controller, but Nine pushes me away and snatches it back. When he slaps her, I can't stop the burning flame of anger in my stomach. I grit my teeth, watching me run for him.

This is it.

We grapple and Nine comes out on top, pushing me towards the base of the hill, closest to the explosions.

But then Honor is running over, trying to help me or save me or take victory.

I don't realise I'm shaking violently until I clench my fist so hard, my knuckles and fingers burn from the strain.

Nine presses the button.

My eyes begin to become fuzzy.

The audience gasps.

My tongue is throbbing, furry and thick, causing my mouth to go dry. My head is spinning.

The explosions set off, louder on the screen.

Everything goes black.

* * *

When I come back around, I'm backstage, the lights from the ceiling now burning into my eyes. I blink hastily, the throbbing in my head now too much. A shadow finally blocks out the light and I squint, looking at Amity's face, dark circle around her eyes, making her dark skin seem almost... weathered.

"You passed out." she says plainly, but her voice has a different softness to it. A softness I've never, ever experienced in my life. Not from my family, trainees, tributes or mentors. No-one has ever sounded that... sad. "You hit the floor, and then the interview was cut short. Brick finished it off for you, though, but that's just him. We just lied saying that you were still adjusting to reality and it was taking you some time."

"Thanks?"

"No problem," she whispers sadly. "Wish I had someone to help me out."

I cast my fuzzy mind back quickly, trying to work out whereabouts Amity won. I think Brick was the last one, and she was around after Maverick and Clifford, so... not that long ago. It suddenly hits me what she means and, noticing it, she smiles awkwardly.

"You worked it out then."

"Yeah," I mumble. "Evander and Signus were self-righteous. Maverick was already an alcoholic. Clifford is nice... but focused. I didn't have a shoulder to cry on."

"What makes you think I need a shoulder to cry on?" I snap back defensively.

"The way you are. Survivor's Guilt, they call it. But in your case, it could be post-traumatic stress," Amity seems almost lost, her eyes watering up. She coughs and shakes her head. "I'm just saying... I don't want other people to go through what I did, all alone."

I graciously offer the extended hand to me and hoist myself up, my body feeling like it's tilted to one side.

I'll never forget. Those images, no matter how hard I try, will never be burned from my skull. They're apart of me now, like the blood pumping through my brains or the shattered psyche throughout my mind. Honor's face will always be there, I just have to remind myself that it was always going to be the way - me or her.

Amity carefully links her fingers through mine and the contact is enough to make me feel better.

With her help, I can do it.

With Clifford's words, I can do it.

I can become myself again.

All the while ensuring that the next generation aren't stupid and reckless like the old Ajax Rogue was.

* * *

The doors to the Training Centre open up and a flood of memories rush through my mind, making everything seem so confusing. I'll be forced to train the others. But, I'll take Clifford's tactic - I'll train them to win, because they have to volunteer no matter what. Evander and Signus continue to walk in front, and as expected, I fall in behind them. As the most recent Victor, I'll get to look after next year's tributes.

Signus stops whilst Evander walks into the crowd of trainees since everyone stops to stare at me like I'm some... some celebrity. They'll all want to be me; I was just like them, admiring what Clifford and Maverick and Amity had become, all whilst not realising the true emotional trauma hidden from our sights. Evander comes back, a boy and girl on either side of him.

"Ajax, here are our volunteers for next year, and the tributes you will need to train until then," Evander introduces them, a chalkiness to his voice. "This is our female, Tarzana Quake."

A girl with muscular arms and a defying glare.

"And our male, Thief Denvir. You might know his mother - she's on the board here."

And a boy, whose eyes are frightened and wide, terrified beyond belief.

He doesn't want to go in. He doesn't want to volunteer.

I wish Ajax Rogue knew that before he went in, all guns blazing.

I would finally find happiness then.

* * *

**Happiness by The Fray.**

* * *

**********The blog for this story is _bttw hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths are notified here.**

**********The obituaries have been posted named _'Remember, Remember'_. Learn about all the tributes and what happened to their bodies. You'll notice that Ajax doesn't have one, but that's because his future is unknown. He could become a mentor in another SYOT at a later date and so forth. His will be a mystery for you all. However, the rest are there, so go and have a look!**

**********Now that's done, you have some more questions I'd love for you to answer:**

_-Thoughts on the obituaries?_

_-Did you enjoy Blood Thicker Than Water overall?_

_-Thoughts on the writing, plots, characters in general, arena in general, basically anything?_

* * *

**********That, my lovely people, is the end of Blood Thicker Than Water. It's been a long run indeed, but well worth it. This story has been, so far, my favourite to write, and I feel like my writing has grown considerably through this. **

**********These tributes were brilliant and I loved them all, and each kill was painful, no matter how many times I say it.**

**********I would like to thank all the submitters for their wonderful creations, the reviewers for keeping my spirits high and providing me with unknowing support, the favourites and the followers just because you guys are adorable, and finally, the readers in general, because the view count for each chapter was unbelievably high, and I think I topped my older stories before I even reached the Games, so... love you all.**

**********See you again soon!**


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